It Started with a Pair of Yellow Pumps
by Drowning.Octopus
Summary: Hermione Granger's bright shoes and the influence of said shoes on her fabulous legs entrance Draco Malfoy, as does her quick wit and sharp tongue. Too bad she has a boyfriend. Love? Maybe. Hilarity? Definitely. In Progress.
1. One: Sunshine Toes and Angry Librarians

Hello, lovey, and welcome to my Dramione fic. Issue #1.

**Disclaimer: Like Archie Comics, Harry Potter belongs to someone entirely not me.**

* * *

Hermione Granger.

Pah.

He scoffed, snorted, and turned his head so that he was facing away from her profile. He turned back and glared at her, then snorted again and turned away. She hadn't noticed any of this. Unsatisfied, he "Humph"ed loudly and threw a particularly nasty facial expression in her direction. She didn't look up. Well, this was simply uncalled for. How dare she not notice him: the Slytherin Prince? The sole tormentor of the unpure? The blonde and beautiful god of all things nasty? Hater of Mudbloods, Half-Breeds, House Elves, Gryffindors, (pretty much everything, really), and especially Hermione Granger, the Queen of Disgusting Incarnate? How dare she not notice him! He was Draco Malfoy, for God's sake! Simply uncalled for. That's what it was.

He tried again.

"Harumph." No reaction. "_Harumph._" No reaction. "GRANGER!"

"Five points from Slytherin," the librarian sneered drolly, not glancing away from the large and dusty volume perched on her lap. Hermione, however, had dropped her book and was now standing with her face to him, hands on her hips and annoyance in her eyes.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" she hissed, bending to pick up the seven-thousand page encyclopedia that he had caused her to release. He found himself transfixed by the vehement intensity of her rather large dark eyes, unwavering and unnervingly locked to his.

"I hate you," he said hastily, choosing to pair his rather unmoving insult with a devious smirk. She rolled her eyes.

"You and the rest of your pompous and animalistic friends. Anything else?" she asked, rising off the floor. He flicked his quill off the rectangular wooden table.

"Oh, my. Isn't that unfortunate? Well. That's what Mudbloods are for. Pick it up," he commanded. She raised an eyebrow.

"And deny you the opportunity? I wouldn't dream of it. Good day," she finished, flipping around so violently that her hair practically smacked him in the face.

"Hmph," he muttered after an initial moment of shock, kicking the quill farther away from himself. Malfoy that he was, Draco was intent on winning this duel. This mini-game of duels, rather. Annoying the snot out of Granger before crushing her utterly was routine. His day was filled with various opportunities for success in that particular area.

Nonetheless, he was not about to forfeit this one.

"Granger!" he called again. She didn't even hesitate--only threw up one arm in dismissal and continued stomping away from him. It was then that he noticed her pumps. Her bright yellow, open-toed, four-and-a-half-inch pumps. She had decided to pair them with gray woolen tights, and the way that the fabric hugged the curve of her leg caused him to lurch forward in alarm. His mother had told him that a good pair of shoes could do wonders for even the homeliest of females, and he had simply discarded this useless bit of information until this very moment. He found himself on his feet without realizing when he had stood.

"_GRANGER!_"

"Another five points, _Mist_er Malfoy," the librarian reprimanded, looking away from her book to glare at him over the tops of thick-rimmed spectacles. He half-bowed in an awkward manner and pursued his bushy-haired rival through a maze of shelves and finally out into the hallways.

She stood just outside the library doors, waiting for him silently and with one eyebrow cocked. She pursed her lips as he approached and adjusted the messenger bag hanging off her shoulder. "Well?" she prodded after a moment of him staring dumbfounded at her. He came to his senses rather quickly, turning on the charm in a sickening way.

"You seem to have forgotten your quill," he offered, thinking quickly and extracting a long-feathered pen from his inside pocket. She rolled her eyes.

"That's yours, Malfoy."

"Are you sure?" he muttered, looking at it as if he genuinely hadn't known. She huffed angrily and pointed out the monogrammed "D.M."

"Is that all?"

He dropped the pen at her feet and drew a sharp intake of breath, as if just noticing something. "Your shoes are yellow," he commented. She looked down at her feet and blushed. Obviously, she was self-conscious about her choice of footwear. That was rather like her, actually, to test boundaries in such a blatant way, while still seeking acceptance from others. He smirked. This would be easy. He thanked God for her lack of confidence. It would be much more difficult to effectively insult a self-accepting female.

"I rather like them." She narrowed her eyes. "Really, I do," he finished, gesturing at her feet and then gesturing to his face and smiling to prove his point. Her toes pointed inwards, as if trying to hide the colorfulness. "They distract me from your rather repulsive, homely face." He tilted his head to one side and smiled sweetly.

"You're a complete ass, do you know that?" she asked.

"I do, actually. And thank you, I've been working on it." She opened her mouth to offend him in some way but he spoke quickly. "It's a pity you chose them in that color. The Weasel can't borrow them, they clash with his hair. But you can always lend them to Pothead, yellow matches his eyes, right?"

Hermione's face darkened and she clenched her teeth. "I--"

And the bell rang.

Draco smirked at her.

"I'll see you later, sunshine-toes."

* * *

God, her legs were bloody fantastic.

As Draco handed Pansy his notebook (for she dutifully copied down for him whatever Snape said in every lesson), he stole a glance at the bushy-haired, big-toothed, altogether completely unattractive young witch in front of him. It was in that particular moment that he noticed that her hair wasn't all that unbearable and her teeth weren't all that big. He also noticed that not only was she utterly and entirely attractive, but her legs were also bloody. Fan. Fucking. Tastic.

He almost had a heart attack. What would his father say? He cleared his throat and willed himself to insult her mentally.

_Fucking Mudblood. What an ugly bucket of ugly slime. Ew. I wouldn't ever touch anything that filthy. I wouldn't ever run my clean, perfect hands up her dirty, filthy--_

Shit. This wasn't working. He looked away in frustration and his eyes met Pansy's. She smirked seductively at him and ran her tongue over her upper lip in a way that was probably meant to be alluring. He pulled a face at her and looked away again.

_Screw it_. He thought. And he spent the next few minutes of class looking straight ahead, inconspicuously locking his eyes on one Muggle-born in particular. She had removed both her cloak and sweater before class in a very un-Hermione manner. On most occasions, every centimeter of skin on her body was completely concealed. Not that he was complaining. Her thin white school shirt made her that much more interesting to watch.

Halfway through the class she bent over in her desk, causing Draco to look up in alarm. She peeled one stocking down to her ankle, ran her hand up her calf, and paused to scratch her knee. Draco's breath hitched in his throat. She pulled her sock up slowly and he watched her suspiciously. Surely she knew that he had been watching her. Surely that display had been just for him.

...She gave no indication. No flirty smirk over her shoulder, no glance in his direction. But she did cross her legs and arch her back, causing him to growl audibly.

A little too audibly, apparently, because four Slytherins interrupted his reverie with their intruding stares. He glared sharply at each one in turn, then decidedly kept his eyes away from Hermione, so as to divert any (completely incorrect) assumptions that he had been admiring her. In any way.

And the bell rang again.

Draco threw a lock of hair behind his ear, slightly flustered, and tossed his books and ink pot into his satchel before getting up. He snatched his notebook away from the girl sitting next to him and tucked it away, attempting to work up enough daring to steal a glance at Hermione. She was looking directly into his eyes when he finally did.

His mouth opened and shut like a gasping fish, and she inclined her head and parted her lips slightly, swinging her bag over her shoulder. Her gaze of moderate confusion turned to one of utter dislike in 0.3 seconds. He mimicked her glare and raised his lip in a sneer that Snape would be proud of. She narrowed her eyes and they stayed looking angrily at each other for at least a quarter of a minute before they were interrupted by none other than the Prince of Pennilessness himself, Ronald Weasley. He wrapped an arm around her waist and asked her a question that Draco didn't hear, for he was too busy gaping in alarm. Hermione's stare was unchanged. Ron traced her line of vision with his finger and spotted Draco, made a face, and turned Hermione around, taking her Potions book in his other hand.

Harry followed the two of them awkwardly, head down and hunched over, as if trying not to think about the fact that his two best friends were now making lovey-faces at each other.

_Well, damn,_ Draco thought. _That certainly does complicate things._

But, really. Ron Weasley? Competition? He smirked and lifted his bag over his shoulder in the haughtiest manner he could possibly manage.

* * *

After dinner that night Draco headed back to the Library. Normally it wasn't his thing. He was only there that morning to find a book he needed as a reference for Ancient Runes (another class he had with her.)

But he knew he would find Hermione there, and chances are, not Ron. He wasn't the reading type. He was the moronic poor as dirt Muggle-loving type. Draco snickered at his joke and slid open the mahogany doors.

In the corner of the room, almost instantly, he found her: Hunched over another enormous volume and with her fingers drumming the pages.

"Where's Weasel?" he asked with mock kindness, taking a seat next to her.

Hermione jumped in alarm, shaken and surprised, and looked up at him, her perfect lips forming a perfect O.

0.3 seconds and she was angry again. "That's none of your business. Now leave, Malfoy," she demanded, bookmarking her page. Obviously she was preparing to argue with him. He was touched. In a most disgusted manner, of course.

"Make me, Granger."

"Alright, I will, Malfoy."

"How? I don't see your pathetic little friends anywhere, Granger."

"And where are yours, Malfoy?"

"I don't need them to deal with you, Granger."

"We'll just see about that, Malfoy."

"What are you going to do, Granger?"

"I'm going to kick your arrogant ass back in time, Malfoy."

"At least I have an arrogant ass, Granger, you shapeless little--"

"Shapeless? Is that why your eyes are on my breasts, Malfoy?"

Silence.

"I thought not," she smirked, proud of herself for having won this battle. _This small and rather insignificant battle,_ he reminded himself. He raised one finger and opened his mouth, working on something to say. She batted her eyelashes and rested her chin on her hand. "Going to counter that remark, Malfoy? Or are you out of witty comebacks?" He pursed his lips and furrowed his eyebrows.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, stood, and placed one hand on her hip, leaning over and smirking down her nose. He stood up, now at least a head taller than her, and drew himself to full height. "I don't need to counter that remark, Granger. Because I am--"

"Because I am Draco Scorpius Malfoy, ruler of all things dark and unholy! And you, Mudblood, are not worthy to shampoo my hair!" she mocked. She finished with a flourish of her hand and went immediately back to sassy bitch mode. "Will that be all, love?" she asked sarcastically.

He blinked at her, then leaned down until he was level with her face, eyes half-lidded and lips curled. She sneered. "'Love?' I must say, I rather like it. But, then, _I _get to call _you_ muffin."

She reddened and took a step back.

"You insufferable, intolerable, altogether horrible, revolting, slimy, unforgivable, brainless--"

"Five points from Gryffindor," the librarian called out. Hermione's face went blank and her mouth dropped.

Then she slammed her book shut and grabbed her bag, marching away from him, yellow pumps and all.

She was the one for him. He was sure of it.

As disgusting as the reality was.


	2. Two: Piggy Parkinson and Amber Fisch

**A short one this time. Yes, a very quick update, I know. But you guys reviewed me eight times so far and alerted me fourteen times. And it's been, like, less than 24 hours. I heart you. **

**Harry Potter will be mine. After my hostile takeover.**

* * *

There were astonishingly few things that Hermione Granger did not understand. One of them was Draco Malfoy. Towards the middle of Potions class on that one (very warm) spring morning, she could almost definitely feel his sardonic gray-blue eyes on her back. When she turned around, however, the little arse was looking in an entirely different direction. It happened at least three times. Draco frowned as she turned from him.

_Shit._ He was going to have to be more discreet than that. She had almost caught him that last time. He sighed and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Pansy Parkinson was dutifully taking notes for him as usual, and so he could spend the entire class period daydreaming. His thoughts, however, repeatedly returned to the striking young lady sitting in front of him. Not that he had noticed the fact that she was striking. Or would admit to it under anything less than torture. He sneered at her back as her hand shot into the air again. He thought it would be easier for her to just keep it raised throughout the entire class period. It would certainly save a bit of wear and tear on her arm-lowering muscles. He snickered to himself and raised his own hand. The hook-nosed teacher called on him, choosing the fantastically well-to-do Slytherin over mudblood Hermione Granger, as usual.

"I'd like to announce that you are the single best teacher in all of history," he smirked, recrossing his arms. Snape's mouth tightened. The rest of the class groaned.

"And do you, Mr. Malfoy, have an answer to the question which I have just asked?"

"Why, yes, I do. Er...Could you repeat the question, Professor?"

"Werewolves, Malfoy. Werewolves. What, pray tell, differentiates them from their close relative, the average grey wolf?" The original question had been considerably harder. He had rephrased it.

"Why, that's an easy one, sir," Draco answered coolly, draping one hand over the back of his chair. "The average grey wolf never turns into a human." He grinned. This, of course, was absolutely not the answer that Snape was looking for. He accepted it, however, on the grounds that the average grey wolf _does not_ turn into a human. Next to him, Crabbe and Goyle guffawed like gorillas. Draco smirked, satisfied with himself.

"I suppose you think you're clever," Hermione muttered under her breath, flipping through the pages of her textbook so furiously that Draco half-expected them to rip right out. "You nasty, smelly, horrible little--"

"I can hear you," he whispered into her ear. Hermione paused in a frozen moment of humiliation before whipping around in her seat.

"I'm _glad_ you can hear me, you revolting--"

"Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Ms. Granger," Snape's voice called out monotonously over the desks of the other students. She blushed angrily, staring directly into Draco's eyes, and turned vehemently away from him.

"I do believe I hate you, Draco Malfoy," she muttered.

"I know, Hermione Granger, I know," he answered with a devious grin.

* * *

After class Draco nodded for his two ogres to go ahead, stalled, and eventually got Pansy to leave him alone as well. He happened to know that the Pure, Emotionally Unstable, and Completely Virginal Gryffindor Golden Trio separated directly before lunch time. It made it that much easier to bug them all in one go: Harry would grab a textbook or two from the Gryffindor Common Room, Weasel-y would either follow Harry or find his (sexy) little sister Ginny, and Hermione would head straight to the Great Hall.

The fattie.

While in a normal situation, Draco would first follow after Harry and start some kind of minor argument (then find Ron and charm his bag so that it snapped shut), today there was not quite enough time. Hermione swung her bag over her shoulder and exited the classroom, and to Draco's dismay, Ron followed immediately after her. She paused at the door and waited for her two best friends to catch up, then exchanged some brief dialogue with Harry and planted a chaste kiss on her boyfriend's lips. Harry grimaced and Draco pulled a face, and the three Trio singulars parted ways.

Draco waited a moment and then quickened his pace until he matched Hermione's stride and was stomping directly alongside her. "Hello, Muffin," he greeted, keeping his eyes forward. She cleared her throat.

"Malfoy, I do believe you're following me."

"Don't pretend you don't like it." She turned her head sharply and he met her eyes with a grin. "I take that as a yes?" She exhaled angrily, like a bull, and sped up ever so slightly.

"If you're trying to bother me, I daresay, it's working. You may leave, now."

"Not a chance, Bucktooth, it won't be as easy as that." She grimaced.

"What do you want, you intolerable slime?" He opened his mouth and she stopped abruptly. His reaction time not so great, Draco took three steps before coming to a halt. She held a finger dangerously close to his lips. "Wait, don't answer that. Answer this."

"I shall."

"Why are you insulting me?" He rolled his eyes.

"Because you make it so easy." She rolled hers.

"I mean, why are you insulting me here, now? Yesterday? Before breakfast, and after dinner? In Potions class? Why, when none of your friends are around? And, come to think of it, none of mine? Why are you insulting me, all of a sudden, when no one is around to laugh at your insults?"

This was something he hadn't prepared for. He began to dig for an answer in the deepest recesses of his brain.

In the meantime, he stalled.

"Define 'insult.'" She bull-snorted again.

"You know exactly what I mean. Deliberately trying to get a rise out of me."

"Define 'rise.'"

"Bothering me! Why are you bothering me? And I swear, if you ask me to define 'bothering,' I am going to rip your pretty blonde hair straight out of your head."

"You think it's pretty?" he asked, batting his eyelashes.

"Answer the fucking question, Malfoy."

"Tut, tut. The mouth, Granger."

"Malfoy."

"My dear, dear, Mudblood. I don't need anyone else around to enjoy tormenting you. It just so happens that I like messing with you in any and all situations." She seemed to accept his bullshit answer and narrowed her eyes.

"I do believe I hate you."

"I do believe I hate you, _love._"

"I have a boyfriend, you know."

"I know, and I really am so sorry."

"Oh, screw you."

"Time and place, Granger. Time and place."

She extended her hand and his heartrate doubled when she pressed it firmly to his chest. "Go. To. Hell," she hissed, pushing him away from herself with the last syllable.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably, positive that she had felt his heart pounding through his ribcage. Then he sneered.

"Have a nice day!" he called after her. She threw her hand up in dismissal (again) and he smirked. It was all too easy.

* * *

A whining voice and a finger trailing along his collarbone alerted him to his surroundings.

Draco batted Pansy's hand away and jiggled the pudding in front of him. Ugh, pudding. How he loathed pudding. A quick glance upward through the empty spot in front of him showed that Hermione was still wrapped around that unbearable redheaded menace. Much like Pansy Piggy Parkinson was wrapped around him. He stabbed a fork into his napkin.

"You've missed your plate, love," Pansy giggled.

"Don't call me that," he responded coolly, attempting to edge out of her vice-like grip (to no avail.)

Another glance upward showed that his empty spot was now occupied by none other than Amber Fisch, an American witch of the Mudblood variety. He groaned and she ignored him.

"Fisch," he began commandingly. She snapped her teeth together in annoyance and turned away from the boy sitting next to her.

"Draco," she countered.

After a moment he responded, "I don't think I approve of you addressing me by my first name."

"Well," she retorted. "Calling you by your last name holds absolutely no meaning. Everyone who dislikes you, and that's most of the school, calls you 'Malfoy,' Malfoy."

"Then you may address me as '_Mr_. Malfoy,' or 'Mighty One.'"

"Fat chance, Ego Boy."

"Move, Fisch."

"Ask nicely, Draco."

"I never ask nicely."

She matched his smirk and lowered her voice, leaning in towards him. "Then I guess you'll have to stare at that Gryffindor through my head, now won't you?"

He cleared his throat, expertly concealing his embarrassment. "Which Gryffindor is that?" he asked, and made a mental note to kick himself later.

Amber was wearing her poker face and speaking so quietly that Draco was the only one who could hear her. "Big hair, pretty eyes, kind of small, drooling all over some redhead kid. I'm not blind, you know," she added, sitting back.

"Far from it," he answered through gritted teeth. "That happens to be Hermione Granger, the lowest of the low and the ugliest of the ugly. She doesn't even deserve to be eating in the same room as me. I'm rather disgusted, really, that Dumbledore would let filth such as her wander the same halls through which passed such greats as--"

"You're babbling."

"And you're repulsive."

"And you have a thing for her," Amber reminded politely.

"And you have a big nose."

"Stop trying to change the subject, Draco. It won't work," she warned. And she was right.

"I most certainly do not have a 'thing' for her. Get it straight."

"Then why have you been watching her for the past...what, now? Two days?"

"I--Why do you watch me so closely? I find it a little creepy, actually."

"Like I said, Draco, I'm not blind. Tell me about her."

"There's nothing to tell. She's the most horrible and disgusting creature I've ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon."

"And you love her?"

"Certainly not. The thought alone makes me sick. I am repulsed by her and I will never, not once, ever find her anything but horrific."

"Ah. She must be Muggle-born. Is she at least smart?"

"I'm quite uncomfortable with this conversation, actually. I'd much rather not talk about the one thing I hate most."

"And what, praytell, is that?"

"Hermione Granger." A moment passed, and Amber wiped her mouth daintily.

"Somehow I doubt that. But, alright. We won't talk about her." Draco's expression softened in relief. "Not yet."

"Wha--'Not yet?' What the hell is that supp--"

"I'll catch you later, Draco," she grinned, excusing herself from the table.

The tricky bitch.

The incredibly perceptive tricky bitch.


	3. Three: Third Years and Pumpkin Juice

Isn't this story just getting delightfully delicious? Keep reviewing, please. I just love it. And tell your friends. Wtf, 400 views? This is unacceptable. I'm gonna punch you.

I don't know how long it's going to be yet. I keep getting stuck, but you guys keep telling me to "update now! NOW!" so I chuck 'em out. I'm on summer vacation, what else is there to do, really? This is gonna be the last one for a while, though, so enjoy them while you can. And keep reviewing, please. I just love it.

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is "Dumbledore's Man." Therefore, he belongs to Dumbledore. And Dumbledore belongs to his gay lover from the book whose name escapes me. And that guy belongs to his mommy. And she belongs to JKR. So, by the Commutative Property, Harry Potter belongs to JKR. Still.**

* * *

"Are you going to recite the password, or am I going to have to call Professor Snape out here?" the tapestry sang out. Draco crossed his arms angrily.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked it.

"I can't say that I do. I cannot see, as you can see."

"I_ can_ see," he responded coldly. "Are you jealous?" he added, the corner of his lips curling.

A pause. And then, "Mr. Malfoy, I presume." He sneered.

"Indeed. I am waiting, Mr. Tapestry, for a certain American Mudblood witch to present her unattractive head so that we may continue a private discussion. So, if you please--"

The trap door swung open and the unattractive witch in question appeared. "Speak of the devil. Quite literally," he finished, lowering his voice in the hopes that she wouldn't hear him.

"I heard you," Amber announced loudly.

"She heard you," the tapestry confirmed. Draco huffed angrily.

"And what is the purpose of you calling me here, outside of the Slytherin Common Room, at eleven-thirty in the evening, Amber Fisch?"

"I want to hear all about this Hair-me-own-lee girl--"

"Hermione."

"Oh, how cute," she began, sitting down on the floor. Draco followed suit. "Okay. I want to hear all about this Hermione girl, make some demands, and have you fulfill them. Are you down with that?"

"First of all, what the hell does that even _mean?_" Draco asked irritatedly.

"Tell me about her," Amber commanded, ignoring his question.

"And second of all," he continued. "I refuse to talk to you about this girl. I don't even want to think about her. It's Friday, it's the weekend. I don't have to deal with her for another three days.

"And that makes you so sad," Amber said seriously. Draco sighed.

This was going to take quite a while.

"There's nothing to tell. I strongly dislike her." Amber raised one eyebrow at him.

"And if I told her you've been staring at her for the past two days?"

"She wouldn't believe you, and she wouldn't care. She has a boyfriend."

"Do you like him?"

"I hate the asshole. He's dirt poor, a Muggle-lover, and a hindrance to society."

"And her boyfriend."

Draco narrowed his eyes at her. The perceptive, tricky bitch. "...Alright. She has this one pair of shoes." Amber laughed. "She wore them once, and, er, presently I find her...er..."

"Beautiful?"

"Slightly less repulsive. Oh, god, it burns my tongue to say it."

"And it'll burn her ears to hear it, I'm sure. Well, that's all I needed," Amber replied brightly, standing up. Draco hustled to his feet.

"And, uh, to keep you from telling her?" he implied, cocking his head to one side. Amber paused, and he could feel her smirking, even though her back was to him. She whirled around slowly on her heel, then approached him again.

* * *

Half an hour later, an emotionally drained Draco Malfoy ambled sleepily into his dormitory. He had one all to himself, seeing as he kicked his two "friends" out back in first year.

Her bargaining chip had been his fear of being ratted out, and her leverage "a kiss."

Pah. Lies. "A kiss," if your idea of a kiss was a vacuum draining the liquids from Draco's face. "A kiss," if your idea of a kiss was a hungry leech sucking away unceremoniously at his tongue. "A kiss," if your idea of a kiss was a thirty minute wrestling match that he was simply too afraid to participate in.

A kiss. Pah. Draco wiped furiously at his lips with the back of his hand, the memory making him cringe.

Amber was a sub-par kisser. He vaguely wondered whether or not Hermione would be any better, then vaguely slapped his head against the wall in punishment. Hermione was unworthy of any of his affection, even that of the imaginary variety. He scoffed. Scoffed again. Frowned. Visualized her lips. Frowned again. He assumed they would be petal soft, considering that she had barely any wear and tear on them. Also, she was probably just as obsessive about her dental hygiene as she was about her school work, so kissing her would be rather pleasant.

He could see it now: Hogsmeade. He would invite her to Hogsmeade. She would protest at first, no doubt, but he would triple his natural charm (maybe swallow some Felix Felicis) and she would melt like butter in his hands. There, he would confess his innermost feelings for her. Er, not that he had any. And she would confess hers for him. And they would kiss and he would enjoy it. He smiled smugly, pleased with his story. And then he thought about it a little more.

And he could have thrown up. Hermione. Ugly Mudblood Hermione, pressing her lips against his? Pressing her lips firmly against his and wrapping her delicate Mudblood arms around him, forcing him flush against her tiny frame?

He winced to prevent himself from thinking about this any longer, then removed his shirt and fell backwards onto his bed.

And someone knocked on his door.

"Who's there," he asked monotonously. It opened dramatically to reveal none other than Piggy Parkinson, dressed head-to-toe in black lace lingerie.

"Hello, Draco," she rasped. With a flick of his wrist the door slammed shut. "Draacooooo!"

She stood whining outside his door for a full minute and a half before finally shutting up and walking away.

He smiled smugly again.

* * *

Draco usually woke up to either the annoying chatter of Hogwarts' owls, or the even more annoying chatter of Slytherin Third Years wandering past his bedroom door.

Today he awoke to the latter. They thought they ruled the school. Bothersome children. He summoned all of his energy and flipped over, taking a peek at the clock next to his bed. 7:58. He snorted and covered his head with his pillow, but the newly-initiated teenagers obviously had no respect for members of a high-ranking Pureblood family and stopped to chat directly across the hall from him. He threw the blankets violently off of himself and crossed angrily to the door, opening it with such force that the thirteen-year-olds screamed out in terror.

"Shut UP, you unbearable brats!" he bellowed, brandishing his fist. They backed up against the wall and he leaned his head out of the door. "Listen, Third Years. I'm going back to bed." Here he lowered his voice considerably. "And if you wake me one more time, rest assured I will skin you alive and leave your smelly carcasses in the Common Room as a warning to all of your little friends. Now repeat that back to me."

After a moment, one brave boy opened his mouth. 'If-if we wake you one more time, you will leave our--"

"_Rest assured,_" Draco interjected.

"Er, rest assured, you will...you will skin us alive and leave our carcasses in the Common Room to warn all of our little friends." Draco pursed his lips, paused for a moment, and nodded, satisfied.

"You'd better believe it, you inconsiderate assholes. Now get out of my sight."

The four of them scampered away down the hall without a word, and Draco smirked after them, bolting his door as he made his way back to his bed. He soon realized, however, that screaming at Third Years was even better than an alarm clock for waking up in the mornings. He punched at his bed in frustration and sat up, pouting. Saturday.

There was never anything to do around here on Saturdays.

He rummaged through the top drawer of his spacious armoire and extracted a green and grey v-neck sweater, a plain white t-shirt, and dark blue jeans. He dressed himself and combed through his incredibly luxurious hair, admiring himself in the mirror. He made a tiny ponytail at the top of his head, snickered, and combed it back down again, adjusting his sweater. When he felt presentable enough, he made his way down to the Common Room, where he found the four Third Years huddled in a corner, cowering in fear. He sneered at them and scanned the room, choosing a cushiony seat next to the window as his roost. For maybe half an hour, he had peace.

"Why, you look particularly luscious today, Drakie-pie." Pansy Parkinson's toddler voice really bugged him. Really, _really_ bugged him.

"I wish I could say the same about you," he responded, stretching his legs out so that she wouldn't be able to sit next to him. Her smile faltered and she crossed her arms, then plopped down onto his lap. "Pansy, I have to piss," he warned, thinking quickly. She shook her head childishly and recrossed her arms. "Get off me, you're crushing my legs into pancakes," he tried. She shook her head again. "Pansy, you ugly cow, get the fuck off me." This time she lifted her legs off the ground, effectively dropping even more weight into his lap. He grunted and, with a great effort, threw her off of himself. "Thank you, Pansy. I will see you later."

She huffed angrily, her chocolate-coloured bangs flying up around her forehead with the quick puff of air.

* * *

Draco wasn't sure where exactly he was going until he found himself outside the Great Hall. He wasn't even hungry, none of his friends were at the table, and it was much too early for anyone to be awake, anyways. There were a handful of Hufflepuffs and a gaggle of Ravenclaws (for they were always awake) seated in the middle of the Hall, but what caught his attention was the solitary Gryffindor across the room. He looked from the empty Slytherin table to the empty Gryffindor table, to the Hufflepuffs and the Ravenclaws merrily chomping away, and to the Gryffindor table once again.

Then he crossed the room and took a seat next to Hermione Granger. She had her nose buried in some romance novel and her spoon buried in oatmeal. She looked up as he sat down, then inhaled sharply. "Draco Malfoy, what on earth are you doing sitting at the Gryffindor table?" she asked, a little too loudly.

Thankfully, he knew not a one of the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs who looked up to see what was going on. "Hermione Granger, what on earth are you doing sitting _alone_ at the Gryffindor table?" She snapped her mouth shut, much like a turtle.

"I'm here because my boyfriend isn't awake yet."

"How pleasant for you."

"You're incredibly immature," she countered, marking her book and setting it beside her. "Now please leave me alone."

"You must not be counting on me listening to you," he assumed, gesturing to her book. She nodded.

"Obviously."

"May I see?" he asked, extending his hand. She raised one leg and slipped the thin paperback underneath her exposed thighs. She was still wearing pajamas. Hot shorts and a tank top, with a velour sweatshirt. Tasteful, indeed. Not something one would expect from Hermione. He wondered if something was written along the back of her ass. "Bitch," maybe.

"No, you may not," she responded. He pursed his lips and the two stared angrily at each other until Draco broke the glarefest to heap some sausage onto his plate.

"Are you going to finish your pumpkin juice?" he asked, his mouth full. She looked at him as if he was crazy. "If you'll notice, I haven't called you 'Mudblood' in a long time. I think that deserves one free gobletful of pumpkin juice."

"Correction, Malfoy: You used that vile insult on me yesterday."

"But not today. Pass the cup, please." She rolled her eyes and moved her goblet farther away, out of his reach. He swallowed.

"Oh, who's mature now?" he sneered. He got up to retrieve the juice and she moved it to the other side of him. "Hm. So _that's_ how it is, is it?" He made to step around her again, and she moved the juice. And he moved again, and she moved again. And it continued until Draco simply pinned her forearm to the table and stole the cup from her grasp, swigging it down in three gulps. "I win. I always win," he announced, pleased with himself.

She grabbed onto his hair and pulled. He yelped. "My pretty blonde hair!"

"Correction, Malfoy: I win," she answered with a smirk. He scowled at her and she raised her left leg, extracting her book and opening it to the page she left off from.

"Well, that's a little rude," he pointed out. She looked up at him from over the pages.

"_You're_ a little rude."

"I am, thank you. But even _I _am not so rude as to read while in the company of someone else."

"And why on earth should I be listening to you? _You_ don't think it's rude to abuse house elves," she snorted.

"Of course not, I think it's roaring good fun!" he finished, clapping his hands together in emphasis.

"I find you utterly despicable."

"I find you utterly a bitch."

"Oh, good comeback, how long did it take you to think _that _one up?"

"Haha, Granger. I've met corpses wittier than you."

"I don't doubt it, _Death Eater._"

"By the looks of it, _you're _the eater, you pig."

"_You're_ the pig, chauvinist."

"I'm not a chauvinist, I only hate _one_ woman. Guess which."

"I don't have time for you, Draco."

He opened his mouth and left it open while he considered her words. Obviously, she realized her mistake, because her face went beet red as soon as he closed his mouth. He leered at her like a hungry spider.

"'**_Draco_**?'" he began, waggling his eyebrows.

"I didn't mean--"

"I'm so sure, I'm so sure." She flushed a deeper shade of red and set her jaw. They said nothing for at least a half a minute. Somehow, during their argument, they had both unknowingly turned to face each other. They each were now straddling the wooden bench and sitting in a proximity that would usually make at least one of them a bit more than uncomfortable. However, this--

"Hermy!"

The two of them looked away from each other to address the figure who had called her name. Ronald Weasley's bright red head bobbed in from the door, running gawkily over to the Gryffindor table. Harry was somewhere behind him, decidedly moodier than usual.

Draco turned his attention back to Hermione and she met his eyes again.

"I'll be seeing you soon, _Hermione._" He put particular emphasis on the last four syllables, and, to his pleasure, she shivered.

Draco left in the most arrogant way he could, drawing himself to full height and wearing his most confident smirk, being sure to stare down the set of best friends as they passed each other. As he opened the enormous oak doors he just caught the beginning of their conversation.

"And what the hell was _that_ all about?"


	4. Four: WonWon and LavLav

Gee, guys, it's been long enough, am I right? Don't forget to read my other story (starting at chapter 7, please. The rest is yucky) because I'd appreciate it if you did. And I am pleased to inform you that I've gotten 2000 more views than my last update. Applaud yourselves. Unfortunately, it's rather hard to write this story because my 12:00 AM inspiration reserves have been dwindled down to nothing.

Nonetheless! Review, review, review. I love that stuff. And tell your friends, we have to beat the 3000 mark. Starting...now!

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to God. Or JKR. Whoever comes first in your life.**

* * *

Usually by this time, Draco had bugged about forty first-years and twenty second-years, threatened to kill at least one third-year, somehow injured a fourth year, taunted a few fifth-years and hit on one sixth-year and one seventh-year each. However, after breakfast today he had merely sat broodingly by the lake. He wasn't anywhere near meeting his quota. He was thinking, of course, about what he was going to do today.

The sun was halfway out, and because it was only eleven in the morning he assumed it would later make a grand entrance and the rest of the day would be sunny and bright. Fan-bloody-tastic. He was now seated with his legs spread wide out and his arms supporting his weight, head cocked to one side and eyes partially-lidded. The grass around him was particularly squishy, and he was positioned directly under a rather large deciduous tree, its shade and leaves protecting him from anyone who might notice him here alone.

Draco didn't want to show up everywhere she was, and he didn't want to appear too forward. He didn't want to jeopardize their already pleasantly abrasive relationship, either. He rather enjoyed their insult battles, to be perfectly honest. And god knows, he wasn't about to go looking for her when he had spoken to her just a few hours ago. Usually he saw her once a day, for five minutes tops.

He was already spending much too much time with her, and she didn't even know it yet. And so he sat quietly, basking in the peaceful serenity of the Hogwarts Lakeside, and sincerely wishing that the Great Squid would make an appearance and attack the two fourth-years making out about fifty feet from him.

Horny bastards.

He sighed very loudly, flopping backwards onto the grass. He must have fallen asleep for a little while.

"Ahem."

Draco snoozed soundly, his sleep uninterrupted.

"..._Ahem."_

No luck.

"Hello? Malfoy?" Draco's eyes shot open, but he stayed rolled on his side for a few seconds, absolutely positive that he had been dreaming. He hoped to god he didn't have any drool on his face. He made sure to sit up slowly, so as to avoid any potential embarrassment.

"What. The. Hell," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and patting his hair down.

"You look rather harmless when you're asleep, I'm actually sorry I woke you up," Hermione began. She was crouched next to him, wearing a pair of denim Bermuda shorts that displayed her blissfully attractive legs.

"That makes two of us," he snapped. "What do you want?"

"What a pleasant greeting," she answered bitterly. He rolled his eyes. "I'd like to talk to you."

"Why?" he asked stupidly.

"I..." she began. To his surprise, her eyes began to well up with tears. As she sniffled, his eyes widened.

"Perhaps you should be talking to someone else," he suggested, eyes widening. She shook her head violently.

"Do you think I'd even _be_ here if there was anyone else to talk to?" she wailed. "I--I--"

"Erm, okay. I'm no good at this. Eh, what's this about?"

"R-Ronald!" she managed to choke out, falling backwards onto her shapely little butt. Draco's heart hitched in his throat. _Ronald._ The way she said it was so utterly hopeless, so hopefully bleak and heartbroken. He tried not to get too far ahead of himself.

"Okay. Ronald...?" he prodded.

"And I can't talk to Harry because he'll take Ron's side, the annoyingly loyal twit. And I can't talk to Ginny because she'll be upset, and so will all of her brothers, and I can't talk to Luna because she's probably insane! And Neville knows nothing about me, and Parvati and Padma are perfect brats, and Cho hates me, I'm sure, and--and--" Here she drew multiple shallow breaths until her sobs became erratic. She couldn't keep them under control at all anymore. Draco shut his eyes contemplatively and tried to assess the situation. She needed comfort. He filled his lungs with air and then boldly reached out to rest his hand on her knee.

She swatted it away and then buried her face in her hands, sobbing even more uncontrollably. Draco, ever persistent, scooted closer to her until they were side by side, then lightly placed his left hand on her shoulder. First, the one closest to him, just to test the waters. She showed no unpleasant reactions. He waited a minute and then moved it to her other shoulder, effectively wrapping her closer to himself. To his surprise, her head fell down to rest on the junction between his upper arm and his elbow. It was in this awkward position that Draco almost wet himself in excitement and terror.

It was at least eight minutes before she was able to speak to him. Or, perhaps she faked it to delay the inevitable awkwardness of having to remove her head from his bicep. Either way, her first post-cry words were, "I hate that boy."

Draco could have flown, he knew it. But to attempt it would mean leaving this adorably vulnerable young female by herself, and that was something he was having absolutely none of. "Care to explain, or are you finished?" he asked, regretting it as soon as it left his mouth. She raised her head off of his arm in annoyance.

"Do I detect a note of sarcasm?" He pursed his lips thoughtfully and finally shook his head. Much to his delight her bushy mane found its place once again on his shoulder. She sighed. "Do you recall, in sixth year, when Lavendar Brown and Ronald Weasley set the foolish goal of 'romping about' on every surface in the Gryffindor Common Room?" Draco let out one barkish laugh.

"I hadn't heard about that, but go on."

"Well," she sneered. "I have recently found out that they have yet to abandon their attempts."

"Oh no," Draco smirked. "You mean...?"

"Caught. In the act," Hermione responded through clenched teeth.

"By whom, may I ask?"

Here she glared so sharply at him that he raised his eyebrows. "By none other than Hermione Jane Granger."

* * *

The second time, Draco was awoken by another young Gryffindoress, accompanied by a certain lunatic Ravenclaw. He was rather shocked when he opened his eyes only to meet the icy gray stare of none other than Luna Lovegood. When he screamed she simply cocked her head to one side and shifted her hair behind her ear. "He's awake, Gin," she mused in a tone that suggested sleepiness. He knew she was wide awake, however. It was just how she spoke. Draco whipped around to see Ginny Weasley hunched over Hermione with her no-nonsense face on. She glared directly at Draco, her perfectly straight red hair whipping past her in the wind.

Hermione sat up quickly. "Ginevra!" she coughed, rubbing her eyes with the back of her right hand. "What on earth--" here she yawned "--are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question," Ginny answered. Her voice was high and feminine, a direct contrast to her bitch-with-a-bat attitude. Draco found her insanely attractive, if a bit young for him.

"I'm fine," Hermione assured, her cheeks coloring just a bit as she looked to Draco. "I--he--I needed to talk, was all."

"So you came to _him?_" Ginny shot, clearly disgusted. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm within earshot, contrary to popular belief, thanks," Draco called out loudly, leaning back onto his hands. Ginny ignored him.

"It was something I couldn't talk to you about," Hermione whispered.

"Couldn't talk to _me_ about? Couldn't talk to **_me_** about? Hermione, we've always been the best of friends!" Draco noticed off-handedly that Ginny tended to make elaborate hand gestures when she spoke.

"Well, I'd find it quite hard to tell you what I told him," Hermione continued, still whispering. She jabbed her thumb in Draco's direction.

"And why is that?" Ginny responded angrily, crossing her dainty, freckled arms in front of her chest. Hermione full-on blushed now, and Draco shared a knowing snicker with no one in particular. She looked warningly at him and he raised his arms in mock surrender. Luna's head turned from person to person, watching the exchange with detatched interest, much like a wild animal.

Hermione crinkled her nose in a most adorable, albeit unconscious, self-defense maneuver. "I..." Ginny raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, wordlessly threatening her to continue. "Can't we talk about it later?" Hermione whined. "What are you two doing here, anyway?"

Ginny ran a hand through her immaculate hair. "Ron said you were upset." Hermione's blush deepened at the mention of his name--an involuntary reaction that Ginny did not miss. "Aha!" she shouted, pointing an accusing finger at her bushy-haired friend. Hermione looked helplessly at Draco, and he repeated his hand motion, more than slightly amused.

"What brings you two down here?" Hermione repeated.

"What did Ronald do this time?" Ginny prodded, leering like a wildcat. Hermione took a step back, unable to find the appropriate words to explain something so complicated to someone so intricately involved in this exchange. Draco understood her uncertainty: whose side, after all, would Ginny take? Isn't blood thicker than water, as they say?

With one final fleeting glance at Draco, Hermione began. "I would have to begin by informing you, because I'm sure your brother has not, that I am hereby dating Sir Ronald Weasley, King of the Chauvinistic Arseholes." Ginny's mouth opened slightly, but other than that she seemed unsurprised. Hermione cleared her throat, still blushing furiously. "Next I would have to let you know that we have been together for nearly six months." Here, Ginny's eyebrows shot downwards and her teeth clenched in an animalistic fury, clearly displeased at Hermione's failure to confide this information in her sooner. "And, thirdly, I would tell you that your brother, Ronald Weasley, the one at fault, has been pressuring me to...er, shall we say...sheath his sword? Is that appropriate? for nearly five of those six months." And Ginny's mouth opened fully, her eyebrows shooting upwards faster than the current gas prices.

"That motherf--"

"And, lastly," Hermione interrupted, "I regret to inform you that not three hours ago did I come across Sir Ronald Weasley, King of Chauvinistic Arseholes, in the process of having said sword dutifully sheathed by none other than Lady Lavendar Brown, ruler of all things Repulsive." She finished with a bow and Draco applauded, catching her eye and exchanging a supportive smirk. She smiled, unable to help herself, and straightened again. Ginny's face was blood orange and her expression was one of pure womanly rage.

"Hermione, I swear to god..." she began, "I am going to _remove _this _sword_ of his, of which I have been hearing so much about, and I am going to nail it onto the Gryffindor fireplace for everyone to enjoy." Draco raised an eyebrow at her brazenness. Obviously, all of the Weasleys were blindly loyal to their friends. Ginny threw her shoulders back and took Luna's hand, waving goodbye to Hermione and failing to acknowledge Draco, and finally stomping off. Not thirty feet away, she turned and yelled back, "Just because I'm considerably younger than you doesn't mean I can't handle such tales as these, Hermy, my dear. I've had my share of boys, you'll recall!" And then she continued on. Another ten feet and she turned again, this time to scream, "And I don't approve of you keeping company with such cretins as this!"

"We'll talk later!" Hermione yelled back, blushing again. Draco made a face at Ginny's retreating back, a face not unseen by Hermione, and she reprimanded him by making a face back.

And so they engaged in a battle of pulling faces. They puffed out their cheeks, crossed their eyes, poked their tongues out, flared their nostrils, contorted their eyebrows, and bared their teeth. The victor, of course, was Draco, having had so much practice at making faces at people's retrating backs in the past. Hermione broke down when he split his face into a terrible smile, and she fell over from laughing so hard, clutching her ribs as the tears leaked out of her eyes. Draco smirked at her mirth and waited for her to finish. When she did, her smile turned immediately into an angry glare.

"I hope you know, this..._laughter_ and these civil _conversations_ that we have shared on this fine afternoon...this does not make us friends."

For, it was true. After Hermione's confession of having seen Ron and Lav-Lav engaging in serious foreplay in the Gryffindor Common Room, Draco had let her babble on about the rest of her problems, actually offering useless but well-meant suggestions every now and then. When she was thoroughly done, he had changed the subject to other topics and had found out a great deal about her perfect friends (and Harry's unhealthy obsession with Draco himself, which, frankly, he found creepy and disturbing beyond belief). Mostly they told jokes and funny stories, then fell asleep. He supposed he had unintentionally given out quite a bit of information about himself in this relaying of hilarious mishaps, but for now, he didn't care. It would probably come to haunt him later.

"This does not change anything between us, Malfoy."

Draco examined his fingernails in an overly haughty manner, then met her eyes and smirked. "I'm not sure you entirely believe that yourself, Hermione." He stood and picked up his jacket, then turned to her. "And, as I've reminded you so many times this afternoon, you may call me _Draco._" She raised one eyebrow and he stopped to contemplate just how pretty she looked when she made faces like that. "Any time you need someone to listen," he finished coolly, "the Slytherin Dungeons. That's where I reside. And I will see you tonight, at dinner. You can count on it."

He had to force himself not to look back as he made the long trek to the castle, but he snuck a peek when he got to the front doors. He was grateful he did so, for he wouldn't have missed the grin on her face for anything in the world.


	5. Five: Dipsticks and Friendships

You're not reviewing. :( It puts me at a serious lack of motivation. Hit that button, people!

On the flip side, I'd like to give a few shout outs:

Charlotte232, whose review made me laugh like no other.

WinnieThaPoo92, for her super awesome feedback. Thank youuu!

headoverheels4HP and the rest of the people who love Draco. I love him, too!

It really means a lot to me that you guys think this story is realistic. Honestly, I couldn't care less, I just tried to make Draco damned funny. At least, at the beginning. Sorry he's not that funny anymore, haha. Thanks to all the people that take the time to review, especially those who make it interesting!I really prefer "I loved the part where " to "This story is great, make another!"

Okay. Rant over.

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter lives in my closet, but does not belong to me. No matter how much I wish he did. **

* * *

Precisely three and a quarter hours later, Draco spied a young, red-headed, dispicable and oversexed Gryffindor on his way to the Great Hall. _Ronald Weasley_, _King of the Chauvinistic Arseholes_, he mused. He dismissed his fifth-year admirer to trail after him, then shot a winning smirk over his shoulder. Like every girl he had ever come in contact with (save one), she almost fainted with desire. Draco watched Ronald make a fumbling, embarrassed entrance through the enormous doors, and he laughed when he saw Hermione's reaction to him. Her hair was practically swimming around her head with angry static electricity. Ron lowered his head as he took a seat across from her. She stood and tapped the shoulder of the boy sitting next to her, who Draco noticed was quite good-looking and very well built (he seethed with terratorial possessiveness), and he nodded as she swung her legs around him to take his seat. Ron blushed and kept his eyes downcast. Harry witnessed this humiliating exchange with a fork poised at his lips and his mouth hanging open, mid-bite. Hermione stabbed haughtily at her squishy pile of potatoes, and Draco swelled with pride as she stared directly and fiercely, eyebrow cocked, at Ronald, who averted his eyes in shame. It was exactly what he would have done. She pursed her lips and pushed her food around aggressively, and Draco took this opportunity to ease the doors closed and reenter.

He swung one side of the door open, one corner of his mouth turned up and the opposing eyebrow raised, eyes half lidded, and head cocked to one side. He caught her eye immediately. Ron also looked up to see who was making such an entrance, and he looked first at Draco, then at Hermione, then back again. Draco held her gaze for a few seconds before sauntering forward towards her table. To his delight, her eyes widened and she straightened up. Her breath visibly hitched in her throat and her muscles tightened. He absolutely _loved _having this effect on her; _loved _the panic on her face whenever he approached her among other people. She lowered her fork and shook her head ever so slightly, and his smile widened to match his stride. There was much murmuring when they finally realized which table he was headed towards. He stopped directly in front of her, placing one hand on the table next to her. The good-looking boy made a face and Draco's smile evaporated in less than a millisecond. He grit his teeth in warning.

"Eyes back in your head, amigo," he scolded, nodding his head at the boy. He merely stared at Draco, brow furrowed. "You look rather like a caveman, don't you? I assume you speak English?" He leaned forward and spoke loudly and slowly, overenunciating each syllable as if addressing an elderly person. "STOP--STARING--AT--ME." This drew the attention of even more people, and Hermione raised one hand to cup her face.

"Draco," she began. His heart leapt at the mention of his given name. "Er, Malfoy," she corrected, stealing a furtive glance at Harry, who was seated directly across from her. His eyebrows had disappeared altogether, so high up on his forehead that they were lost in his torrent of black hair. His mouth was wide open and he stared shamelessly. Draco raised his own eyebrows in greeting. "What on earth--are you _trying _to make a scene?" she reprimanded.

"Well, if I was, I would be succeeding, wouldn't I?" he responded. He stood up straighter and waved at the students watching him, hand cupped and arm swinging in a royal gesture. She colored and stole a glance at Ron, whose face was as red as, if not redder than, his hair. A purple vein stood out on his neck, and Draco grinned at the sight of it. "I told you, didn't I, that you would be seeing me again tonight?" Hermione blushed fully now, his choice of words obviously not working to her advantage.

"Please, Malfoy, your use of vocabulary? I believe you said--"

"My my, are you uncomfortable?" he interrupted, leering at her. She blushed again. "Miss Hermione Granger, Queen of Wit and Ruler of Coolheadedness, _uncomfortable_ with an appearance by none other than Draco Malfoy?"

"I am most certainly _not_ uncomfortable," she hissed, swatting his hand away from herself.

"Well, I'm not leaving until you call me by my birth name, so you can--"

"_Draco._"

Silence.

"I..." he began, at a loss of words. His name sounded so much better when she said it, even when she spat it angrily like that. "Hm. It's almost insulting how quickly you--"

"Draco, Draco, Draco." He grinned.

"Hermione."

She huffed angrily. "Mr. Malfoy, I do believe you can get in trouble for holding conversations at other tables during mealtimes, am I correct?"

He extended his lower lip in response. "That's not what you said this morning." She blushed furiously, his choice of words, once again, giving the wrong impression.

"_Draco!_" she said loudly.

"Yes, _that's_ what you said this morning." He laughed at her frustrated expression, and this time she brought both hands up to hide her face.

"You're embarrassing me, Draco," she answered loudly.

"Really?" he asked, raising a pale hand to cup his cheek in mock surprise. "Why, that was completely against my intentions!"

"Perhaps you'd like to take a seat at your--" Here he swiftly and expertly squeezed in next to her. "Over _there!_" she finished vehemently, jabbing an angry finger towards the Slytherin Table. He beamed at her.

"Why? Aren't you enjoying our visit, Hermione?" he asked.

"I find you rather unbearable, Draco," she responded, leaning in towards him and returning his Cheshire grin.

That would have been the perfect moment to share their first kiss, and he reprimanded himself for missing the opportunity multiple times after that. Instead, he merely let the moment linger until both of their smiles faded slightly, and until Harry butted in rudely.

"I apologize for the interruption," he said, no hint of apology in his voice, "but what the _hell _is going on?"

"I second that," Ron added, standing up so fiercely that he knocked over his goblet of pumpkin juice. "Why the fuck are you talking to a dipstick like _him?_" Hermione was the first to look away, and she started on Harry.

"A brief exchange between myself and an acquaintance, that's what's going on," she told him. Draco felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He had fully expected her to use the word "friend" somewhere in her explanation. Then she turned to Ron. "And you, you ignorant, shit-brained, horny bastard, have no right whatsoever to inquire as to the company I choose to keep. And _you_ seem to have _no_ problem dealing with _dipsticks_, seeing as you had _this_ dipstick," here she gestured to Lavendar, halfway down the table, "servicing _your_ dipstick this morning!" Loud laughter broke out among the table, Draco's included, and Lavendar blushed in anger and humiliation. Ron sat down, utterly defeated, and sputtered a retort.

"You--I--I told you that--"

"Don't you dare start with me, Ronald, not here," Hermione hissed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Draco could almost hear the rattle on her tail. He knew Ron had only one warning. Ron seemed to know as well, however, because his mouth closed and he spent the rest of his meal shoving food around his plate with a crimson blush tattooed across his face.

Hermione turned away from her friends to share a victorious smirk with Draco, who exaggerated applause. She exaggerated a bow, and he exaggerated throwing flowers. She exaggerated blowing a kiss.

And then their makeshift farce stopped, and Draco leered at her for the millionth time that day. He always trapped her in the most inopportune situations. Her face contorted in something close to anger, and he got up from the table. She pursed her lips as he stood in front of her, and he pantomimed the most overly done and elaborate kissing gesture ever expressed, eliciting a tiny smile from her. He smirked and retreated to his own table.

* * *

"I saw that," Amber said angrily as soon as he took his seat. "What the hell _was_ that?"

"That was me demolishing your bargaining chip. It would appear as if you have absolutely no control over me, Fisch," Draco responded, spreading his napkin across his lap. "I've made ties with that insufferable, bushy-haired, annoying Gryffindor. And there's nothing for you to hold over my head." His smile was like that of a tiger stalking prey. "No more late-night visits to my room for you," he added, mocking a disgusted shiver.

"That doesn't mean she knows your feelings for her," Amber retorted, her hands banging lightly onto the tabletop.

"Ah," Draco began, swallowing a mouthful of steak. "She's very perceptive. And very boyfriendless. I'm not entirely sure about that assumption of yours." He hoped it was untrue, actually. Nothing would be more embarrassing than word getting out about Draco's feelings for Hermione. He wasn't about to tell that to Amber, of course. But, honestly. Slytherin and Gryffindor? Future Death Eater and Future Auror? Pureblood and Mudblood? It just couldn't be done. Amber searched his face for a long while, and Draco kept it as stony and blase as he could.

Finally, she smirked.

"I understand you, Draco," she said, nodding her head in satisfaction. "A lot more than you know." He swallowed again, even though there was no food in his mouth. He was grateful that she had stopped studying him, for the fear in his eyes was apparent even to himself now.

She finished her dinner, downed her juice, and placed her fork down daintily. "I'll be seeing you tonight," she grinned, winking at him.

_Dammit._


	6. Six: Sex and Language

Hey, readers! This is a longass chapter. I hope you love it, because it might be my favorite so far. Rated R for sex and language. Sorry.

;) Enjoy!

edit: HEYYYYY. 38 HITS AND NO REVIEWS. UNFAIR, PEOPLE. UNFAIR.

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to people more important than I can ever hope to be in my life.**

* * *

Amber was rather good in the sack. There was no denying that: she had a marvelous body and rather luscious lips. Her eyes were bloody fantastic and her long, straight hair was roughly the color of...well, amber. She also had the most adorable freckles sparsely distributed over her cheeks and nose. Draco later discovered that the same freckles were also distributed over her shoulders, her upper thighs, the bare expanse of her stomach, and a few other places as well. Her nose really was quite large, though; not that it mattered when her body was so bloody marvelous. Normally, bedding a girl like Amber would be a triumph for him. The overwhelming dilemma, however, was that the girl was a bitch. And while Draco wouldn't usually care whether or not the girl killed puppies, Amber was a bitch who had it out for him.

She was also dominant, which, needless to say, made him more than slightly uncomfortable. So on Saturday night, as the girl slid off of his sheet covers and gathered up her belongings, making sure to leave him with one final glare, Draco found himself practically cowering under the comforter. He noticed as she turned the doorknob that she was walking into the hallway stark naked. Draco knew, however, that not a single boy would give her hell on the way back to her room. That is--if she ran into any boys. It was four in the morning. Nonetheless--any boy who saw her would simply redden and shut his door. She had a way about her that scared the nuts off of everyone.

Amber was hot.

So, imagine his surprise when he realized that, not two minutes after she left, his thoughts were drifting away from her and towards none other than Princess Mudblood. Hermione was attractive, he supposed. As long as she kept her horrid hair in check, she was kind of pretty, he supposed. Her hair and eyes were just ordinary brown, but the latter were so large and expressive (bright when she was answering a question or laughing, dark when she was insulting him or thinking) that they overtook her face. Her nose was upturned and dainty, almost Asian in appearance, and when she was frustrated or defensive it wrinkled in the cutest way possible, just to spite him. Her figure was nowhere near as drastic as, say, Parvati Patil, but it was pleasantly round and smooth. One wouldn't think she was much to look at, especially underneath her Hogwarts robes, but as soon as she removed her cloak and exposed the legs hiding underneath, Draco was unable to keep control. She kept her gray skirt about four inches above her knee--a relatively modest length. When she sat down, it rose to nearly seven inches above her knee. And when she twisted away from him in anger, it rose until it nearly exposed her perfectly round bottom.

Once--oh, Merlin, once he had made her so angry that she had stopped in her tracks and spun about on her heel, knocking him about the head and shoulders until his cloak and bag fell onto the floor and he had yelled out for her to stop. As she turned away, she slipped on his cloak and the resulting fall had been enough to make his heart lock in his chest. With her legs flailing about in the air and her white cotton underpants fully exposed to him, he had merely tensed up and become unable to move. When she eventually righted herself she was as red as a tomato and kicked him in the shins for good measure, stamping away so furiously that she could have been a rhinoceros. Draco had been compelled to scurry to the bathroom, and he had remembered this moment not half an hour ago, whilst Amber Fisch topped him so expertly. It had been this thought that had sent him soaring head over heels into blissful waves of ecstasy, and it was this thought that made him blush and cover his head with the blankets like a smitten schoolboy at this very moment.

He fell asleep thinking about those white cotton underpants.

* * *

And he woke up to the sound of his dreadful alarm clock, beating at his brain with a sledgehammer in the most monotonously droning buzz ever to fall upon his pale ears. He grumbled a protest and flicked his wand out from underneath his pillow, pointing it lazily and effectively smashing the thing into a million tiny pieces. He then yawned and conjured for himself a new clock on the far wall, so that he could see what time it was. Seven. He had gotten three hours of sleep. Groaning, he rolled himself out of bed and into the shower.

He nearly fell asleep under the warm trickle of the water. When he emerged, he combed his hair backwards like Arthur Fonzarelli and extended his thumbs with a grin, a wink, and an, "Ayyy!" He laughed to himself and proceeded to choose his ensemble for the day. After much deliberation, he decided on a black cotton v-neck and blue jeans with the bright green sneakers that he was rather fond of. He glanced at his brand new clock, which now read seven thirty, and took a final look at himself in the mirror. With a jolt he realized that his hair was still slicked back into a mid-century pompadour. He grimaced and shook his head around until it suited his tastes, then ran a hand through his beautiful and well-cared-for tresses. Smooth to the touch. He grinned haughtily and exited into the Common Room. It was completely empty, and he was pleased to find that Piggy Parkinson was still asleep. He whistled a tune to himself and pushed the tapestry aside, jumping past it in his haste.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, so early in the morning?" it asked him in its superior British accent. Draco smirked as he rushed past it.

"Why, the Great Hall, my good man. The Great Hall."

"You must be hungry," it muttered to itself as he got farther away.

"Hungry for a young lady, yes!" he answered, snickering to himself.

"Isn't that just like this generation," the tapestry announced grandly. The portrait on its right had to agree.

* * *

Draco made his entrance at precisely seven forty-five, poked his head around the door, and saw no one. Well, actually, he saw a group of three or so Hufflepuffs and maybe six Ravenclaws. He cocked an eyebrow at the empty Gryffindor table and turned around to leave. Then he thought better of it and made his way to the Slytherin table, seating himself dejectedly. He heaped eggs and waffles onto his plate and filled his goblet with apple juice, swallowing half-heartedly.

About twenty minutes later, Hermione Jane Granger stepped into the Great Hall, nose buried in a book as usual. Her outfit today consisted of green plaid shorts and a white tee shirt. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail--a look most becoming on her. She glanced up from her book at the Gryffindor table and she took four or five steps before he caught her eyes rolling towards the Slytherins. She was looking for him. His heart pounded at four hundred beats per minute. When she caught his eye she jumped, startled, and blushed, returning her face to the pages of her novel. She retreated to her table, shoulders hunched, and seated herself...facing him. Her eyes poked out at him from over the top of her book, and she turned scarlet to see that he was looking back at her. She busied herself with her plate and Draco frowned.

He did not join her at her table.

Every few minutes or so, she would stop chewing and glance upwards at him, nervously, as though afraid he was going to cross the hall and eat her. He was careful to avoid her gaze whenever she did this. After eating in silence for about ten minutes, he worked up the courage to meet her eyes. To his surprise, she was gone. His head turned sharply towards the door. It had been ten minutes, she couldn't be finished already. She wasn't there either. He stabbed his fork into his plate and pouted angrily until the view of his eggs was obscured by a female-shaped shadow. She cleared her throat.

"Ahem," she began. He looked up slowly. Her face was flushed and she was holding her book tightly across her stomach with one hand, the other one poised in a fist at her lips. Her eyebrows were knitted and as he gaped at her, she looked to his right. "I--" she began. Then she caught herself and merely pulled out the bench before her, swinging her legs over it and pulling a plate to herself. She cleared her throat again and placed her book down on the table. He caught the title: _A Love So Pure._ He tried not to snort. She kept her head down as she filled her plate: sausage, french toast, scrambled eggs. She poured ketchup across it all and dumped powdered sugar on her toast. He realized that he hadn't said anything yet, and cleared his throat as well.

"Good morning, Hermione," he said. He kept his voice low, afraid that it would squeak if he didn't put out the effort.

"Good morning, Malfoy," she matched. He rolled his eyes.

"Where are your friends?" he asked politely.

"Er...off somewhere being stupid, I guess," she answered. She reached a slightly darker shade of pink. Aha.

"And why are you not with them at this moment?" he asked, unable to keep the smirk from his face.

"Well," she began matter-of-factly, "I believe that a balanced breakfast is the proper way to start off any day, so naturally I decided to allow them to run off on their adventures while I--"

"Came to see Draco?" he finished, grinning at her. She looked up at him in something close to anger.

"Don't flatter yourself," she answered. "I...Well, I wasn't about to spend the day with those two brats. Harry has sided with him--I knew he would, I told you, remember?--and I have chosen not to get involved with the two of them and their _testosterone_." She spat the last word as if it would disease her as it existed on her tongue.

"Yes, I see," Draco responded thoughtfully. "You missed me." Here he grinned at her with his eyes half-lidded, placing his forearms on the table smugly.

She huffed angrily. "Keep your elbows off the table, Dra--er, Malfoy."

"Say you missed me," he answered, pointing his arms and placing said elbows on either side of her.

"I most certainly will not. Keep your elbows--"

"Say it."

"Your elbows--"

"Say it!"

"Malfoy, I will not--"

"Come onnnnnnnnnn!" he whined.

She sighed. "I just saw you yesterday. Why in god's name would I miss you?"

"Don't ask me, I don't understand your female hormones," he answered.

She stared angrily at him, and he began to laugh loudly. She first looked at him disapprovingly, then joined in on his laughter. "Finish your breakfast," he demanded.

"I'm rather full," she answered.

"Then the Hogwarts house elves are going to have to finish your food," he teased. She glared at him.

"I don't find that funny."

"I find it hilarious."

"That's because you're immature."

"At least I'm not ugly."

"I wouldn't say that."

Draco gasped. "Take that back! My features are one hundred percent perfection. And my ancestors are the--"

"Are the most beautiful people that you could ever hope to see in your lifetime! You should be cowering in fear of my insane beauty! Look upon me and tremble! Tremble, Mudblood, tremble!" Hermione finished, affecting a voice much like Draco's.

"I daresay, I believe you are mocking me." She smirked.

"I daresay, I believe you are horrific to look at."

He narrowed his eyes. "What, have you been practicing? Do you have nothing better to do than practice your Draco impersonation?"

Hermione smiled smugly. "I take it that means I'm good at it."

* * *

Forty minutes later, Hermione was wiping her mouth with her napkin as Draco belched loudly. She 'tut'ed disapprovingly and he smirked at her, slouched lazily in his seat with both arms over the back of the bench.

"What are you doing today?" he asked nonchalantly, pursing his lips together in an attempt to keep his teeth from chattering. It was only nine o' clock, after all. There was still tons of day left.

No sooner had Hermione opened her mouth than the rest of the Golden Trio--the Debilitating Duo, if you will--swung open the doors to the Great Hall, chattering loudly as they did. Draco rolled his eyes. "Isn't it just like Potty and Weasel to make a scene wherever they go," he mused. Hermione laughed.

"They rather remind me of you, in that regard." Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Me? Like _The_ Harry Potter? Bite your tongue."

Harry and Ron took seats opposite each other at the very end of the table, as they usually did. Ron sat facing the window, and Harry sat facing the Slytherin table. Hermione watched them for a moment and then turned back to Draco. "Jerks," she muttered. Draco watched as Ron filled his plate. Harry was talking quietly to him. He had some sort of a package. The back of Ron's head suggested that his eyes were focused on his food, and Harry's eyes scanned the hall slowly. They stopped when they reached Draco, and he smirked in response, choosing to respond to Hermione's question while locking eyes with Harry.

"What did you say?" he asked her. She huffed angrily.

"I asked you what you're looking at."

"Oh," Draco answered, tearing away from Harry's gaze. "Your good buddy over there," he finished, grinning at her. He then looked back up at Harry, who was now glaring at him with all his might. Draco raised his eyebrows and looked towards Hermione, and Harry's eyes traced the arc he had made. "He's spotted you," Draco told her. She inhaled sharply.

"Which one?" With a start, Draco realized that he heard hope in her voice. He looked at her firmly.

"The one who you don't hate as much," he reminded her. Her mouth made a tight line. Draco watched as Harry tensed up, then opened his mouth wide and said something loudly to Ron. He hit Ron on the shoulder twice and pointed straight at Hermione. Ron, thick as ever, turned around and looked at a spot four seats down from her. His cheeks were puffed out with potatoes. He turned back around and Harry shook his head furiously, standing up this time and jabbing a finger in Hermione's direction. Draco laughed. Ron turned back around and Harry guided his head until his eyes locked on Draco. Ron's face contorted with rage and a greasy film of potatoes sprayed out of his mouth. Draco waved.

"Yes, now they've both spotted you," he told her, and she laughed as well. "Wave hello!"

Hermione smirked and shook her head, nervously moving her fork from one side of her empty plate to the other. Harry and Ron were speaking loudly to each other, standing up and taking turns staring furiously at Hermione. Harry pointed his finger and waved it around in her direction and Ron shook his head vehemently, then stubbornly sat down and crossed his arms. Harry threw his arms into the air and practically threw the bench behind him, stamping away from Ron and towards Draco. Ron stared after him for a moment, then let out a sharp breath of air and followed. Hermione could obviously hear all of this, and she giggled in delight, clapping her hands together joyously. Draco laughed at her amused expression and refused to make eye contact with the approaching Gryffindors.

Harry was first to reach them, and he stood to the right of Hermione, clearing his throat loudly. Ron came soon after him and took his place to her left. Not being one to waste any time, he simply banged both hands onto the table and commenced yelling at her. His face was rather purple.

"HERMIONE," he sputtered. She rolled her eyes and rested her chin on one hand. Draco smirked at him and Ron looked up at Draco with the most anger one can express in a gaze.

"Hello, Ronald," she answered calmly. He babbled incoherently for a moment or two, then gave up and pointed at Harry, allowing him to take his turn.

"HERMIONE," Harry echoed. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Hello, Harry."

"I--THE _FUCK_--HERMIONE JANE GRANGER, I AM GOING TO--OH _MERLIN, _HARRY," Ron choked out, finishing by taking two steps back and throwing his arms about his head. The four of them now had the attention of every person present in the hall. "IS _THIS _WHAT YOU DO TO GET BACK AT ME?" he added angrily, pointing at Draco and then retracting his hand with a vengeance. She cocked an eyebrow at him and waited for him to finish. He babbled a bit but said nothing more.

"Ronald, I am not in any way trying to--" she began coolly.

"HERMIONE! LAVENDAR AND I--" She stood up so quickly that Ron had to take a step back.

"This is. Fucking. Not. Fucking. About. You. Fucking. Lavendar," Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. Her sailor talk rather excited Draco, and he grinned to himself with both eyebrows raised. Ron could only gape at her, eyes bugging out of his head and eyebrows so fiercely angled that they were practically vertical. He gasped a few times and then covered his face with his hands.

"Jesus, Hermione, I can't even _breathe_," he said furiously, swearing a bit afterwards. He pointed fiercely at Harry, once again signalling for him to take his turn.

"Hermione, what the _hell _are you doing? You can't seriously be keeping company with _this _bastard. I thought Ginny was fucking _joking _when she told me she found you at the lake with him, and then at dinner yesterday, and now today--" Here he broke off, sputtering in fury. "Fucking _Merlin!_ He can't be your friend, what the _fuck _are you--"

Draco coughed loudly and stood up. "I believe that's for her to decide," he interrupted coolly. And just like that, all three boys (as well as the rest of the students in the Great Hall) stared at Hermione and waited for her answer.

She turned rather pink in the face, her expression a mix of annoyance and embarrassment, and she stood up and faced her friends. Draco held his breath.

She raised her head and stomped out of the Great Hall. At the door, she stopped for a moment and then turned around.

"Malfoy," she called out. And then she tilted her head once, sharply, to the left, and continued walking. Rest assured, this was a gesture gone unmissed by Harry, Ron, Draco, or a single spectator.


	7. Seven: The Room of Requirement

**So, it's been almost a millennium, if I'm not mistaken! I'm sorry, guys : /**

**Poor, poor Draco.  
**

**I especially apologize to all of my younger readers, sorry! This is slightly more raunchy than PG-13. Warning for OOC, not much funny, and steamy situations.**

**Remember to _REVIEW!_  
**

**Disclaimer: :((( No, they're not mine.**

**Edit: Just a note for the people who've been asking, Hermione's embarrassed because of the room that pops up behind the door. The Room of Requirement shows what you really need, remember?  
**

**Happy Christmas ;)  
**

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Draco's eyes bugged out of his head and Ron turned from Hermione to him, roaring angrily and clenching his fists at his sides. Harry shook his head in frustration and grit his teeth.

She turned around for a moment to see if he was following, looking slightly flushed and very angry. He glanced briefly to his left, and then to his right, nodding at each of the other boys in turn. Then he sped up to what he felt was sixty miles an hour and high tailed his ass out after her.

As he left, one third-year Hufflepuff cat-called, and soon the entire Great Hall was whistling after them. Hermione raised one hand to her face in embarrassment and tapped her foot impatiently. Draco slowed down to a stroll and leaned back slightly as he walked, waving and grinning like a rubberhose cartoon. Hermione threw her hands up and called him again. "_Malfoy!_" she repeated, resting her arm on the door frame. Draco sped up again and met her with a bow, allowing her to exit before him. She blushed in annoyance and stomped into the hallway, and as he closed the door he winked at the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs still jeering wildly.

Hermione stood with her arms crossed, one hand perched daintily behind her ear out of self-consciousness. Draco turned to face her and matched her stance, shifting all his weight onto his left foot and pressing his right hand to the back of his head. She exhaled sharply, letting all the air in her lungs out through her nose, and swiveled on her heel. As she walked away, Draco was reminded of the grape mashers in the Italian vineyards--only Hermione seemed to be attempting to stomp very hard rocks into cider. He followed after her with quick-minded agility, remembering to fall a few steps behind, just in case she turned around or stopped abruptly. "Hermione! Don't walk away after you've told me to follow you, it doesn't work like that."

She said nothing. Draco reevaluated his plan, wrinkling his forehead slightly in order to better concentrate.

"Where are we going? Where are you taking me? What's happening? Are you going to rape me?"

She said nothing.

"Are you taking me to the lake? Are you taking me to the Headmaster's Office? Are you taking me to the Chamber of Secrets? Are you taking me to the Gryffindor Common Room?"

She said nothing.

And then, completely contradicting Draco's true hypothesis, Hermione turned right, and into the mass of moving staircases towards the heart of the building, as opposed to left, which would take them outside and back to their secret tree where no one would be able to see them. Draco was stunned into silence for a moment or two and stood lingering next to the mahogany arch separating Hermione from the main entrance. She, however, continued her angry trampling and made her way to one of the red velvet staircases. He hurried after her, afraid that maybe he'd get trapped at the bottom as she and the carpet slid to the other side of the school. He stood on the step directly below her as she paused, waiting for the staircase to lock itself into place on the seventh floor western wing.

"H-Hermione?" he questioned. She said nothing, and he ventured another word or two. "Hermione, where--"

She whipped around to face him with such ferocity that he instantly fell silent, not daring to speak again until the lurching of the steps stopped completely and Hermione began her bloodthirsty ascent once again. He followed obediently, occasionally interrupting the monotonous din of their footsteps with a question, obviously ignored by his very angry companion. He followed until they reached a secluded hallway lined with various suits of armor and ornate tapestries, and he even kept quiet as she finally laid to rest her horrible stomping in front of a rather hideous curtain--a scene depicting a rather short and stout man giving a ballet lesson to a couple of trolls. Draco's nose scrunched up as he studied the tapestry, he having been honed from birth to appreciate only the finest of art, but Hermione drew in a deep shuddering breath and turned to address the solid stone wall directly opposite it, unnoticed by him. Draco commented on the outright ugliness of such a terrible thing hanging in the place where _he_ was currently learning and tapped the fringe with a single finger, withdrawing it in disgust.

He looked closely at the gold embossed thread running along the outer edges, and just as he was about to laugh at the small man's sweaty brow, he felt a sharp tugging on his neck. Choking, he staggered backwards to ease the pressure. And choking, he attempted to turn around to see what was choking him. Delicately manicured fingers pulling on his crisp black shirt. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed Hermione's hand, ripping it away from himself. She responded by pressing a finger to her lips and taking that very hand in her own smooth porcelain grasp, setting fire to Draco's insides and causing him to go ever so slightly lightheaded.

For the first time, he noticed the shiny maroon door that he was sure had mysteriously sprang up behind him as he made fun of the hanging decor, and he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. But footsteps had begun to clack their way down the hallway towards them and Hermione yanked helplessly at his pale white hand, her eyes filled with apprehension. He obeyed and followed her through the dark red door and into a room he swore to god he'd never heard of in all his six years at Hogwarts.

The niche before them was dimly lit with yellow hanging bulbs, maroon velvet armchairs and sofas with golden trim stood crowded together, and fluffy Gryffindor cushions were spread out on every available surface. A mahogany table surrounded by comfortable chairs in the middle of the room faced the door. The east wall was made of windows of all different sizes and shapes, each seemingly leading to a different place in the school. A massive fireplace bragged a massive fire, roaring away on the opposite side of the room. In front of the fireplace sat a single silver and green cushion, complete with an embroidered serpent. He smirked at it. With a flutter in his lower abdomen Draco realized that Hermione still held his hand, and he discreetly stole a glance at her. Her face was painted with a horrified expression and her blush deepened with every passing second. He wondered vaguely if she had ever seen this room before, either.

"Hermione?" Draco began. She looked up at him, shocked out of her reverie, and her face became even redder, if possible.

"Er, Malfoy?" she responded, her voice quiet and mouselike. It took him by surprise and he found he couldn't say anything for a moment. Back at the Great Hall, that wasn't embarrassment--that was shame. This right here was embarrassment, or Draco was a monkey's uncle. So, Hermione Granger! _Embarrassed! _Who knew it was possible! Well, he could handle this. This was the area in which he excelled. He put on his best wolf's smile and raised his left hand, the one currently fingers-intertwined (god help him, he was practically hyperventilating!) with hers, and shook it lightly from side to side. She let go quickly and wrung her fingers together, biting her lip in the most adorable manner of self-defense. This plan was backfiring.

"So, why did you take me here?" Draco prodded. He watched her open her mouth, and he watched her close it again in thought.

"Well--So that my haplessly pea-brained best friends wouldn't be able to find me, of course."

_Ah, well played. An excellent answer._

Draco stumbled for a moment and he felt his smile falter ever so slightly. "Yes, but why did you take _me_ here?" he pressed. She lowered her eyebrows.

"You followed. I didn't take you anywhere."

That much was true, he realized. He made a face, retreating back from the offensive position. "Where are we?" he chose to ask.

"Erm, that's not important," Hermione answered.

"Au contraire, i believe it is!" Draco countered, lazily making his way past the mahogany sitting table and directly onto one of the couches next to the fireplace. He stretched out on the sofa and smirked at her. "So I was right, then? You _are_ going to rape me?" Here he winked, and she made a face suggesting obvious displeasure. Then she made a deep retching noise and Draco was slightly offended. "I must admit, I'm slightly offended."

"You needn't be, I assure you, it's nothing personal. Just the thought of intercourse with you is enough to make one gag."

"I daresay, I believe that's a personal matter," Draco responded, raising a hand to his chest in a gesture of emotional hurt. "And I assure _you_, plenty of girls just like you are flocking to my bedside every night." He yawned, careful to expose a tiny piece of his perfect stomach in the process. He saw her eyes graze the bare skin above the top of his trousers, and he saw her cheeks color just the smallest bit. "Yes, I work out," he grinned.

Hermione narrowed her eyes into slits and planted herself into the armchair across from him, curling her legs up onto the seat next to her. "I'm oh-so-happy for you," she responded, and here, clever girl, she extended one nearly bare leg so that it stretched in a delicate arc away from her body. Draco's eyes widened as she unknowingly teased him, using one hand to prop up her head and letting the other rest daintily on her thigh, her body spread horizontally on the fluffy red chair. He swallowed and crossed his arms behind his head, allowing his shirt to ride up just a teensy bit more. She didn't look, clever girl, and instead she raised the hand on her thigh so that the long tapered fingers just barely touched her bare skin. His flesh burned and his mind went completely blank as she draped her fingers back and forth along a four inch section of her thigh, completely innocent of her actions. She adjusted in the seat, attempting to get more comfortable, and rubbing her calves together as she did so. She then sighed and resumed the light caressing of her thigh, staring into the fire as she did all this. He drew in a deep breath and muttered a quick concealment spell, for obvious reasons.

"What did you say?" she asked. He stammered and scratched at his thigh, nervous that perhaps his spell hadn't worked.

"Nothing, I didn't say anything," he answered eventually. She raised one eyebrow and mimicked his smirk perfectly. He swallowed hard and she leaned closer to him, beckoning him nearer. He tried desperately to look at her face, not her breasts, not her legs, as his hormones took over and he fought to keep control. He came so close that their faces were nearly six inches apart.

"Draco Malfoy," she half-whispered. As soon as the syllables of his first name hit his inner ear he shivered, hoping to god she hadn't noticed. He felt her smile and now it was his turn to blush. "_Draco...Malfoy..._" she repeated, slower this time, and with more emphasis. His mouth opened slightly, involuntarily. "_I do believe you've been staring at my legs_."

She held the last word for longer than was necessary, drawing it out just to torture him, and at the same time she ran a smooth porcelain hand over the expanse of her thigh, pressing her legs together and bringing them up and over the arm of the chair she was currently sitting in. Draco was overcome with such shock, such embarrassment, and such mind-blowing, gut-wrenching arousal that he moaned audibly.

And that was the beginning of the end for him.


	8. Eight: Red Marks and Secret Kisses

For faerieXpenguin, your review was too sweet.

UMMM, if my last chapter was rated PG-13, this one should be rated R. :X You've been warned!

Don't forget to **_REVIEW!_** Honestly, it makes my day. And inspires me to write more, hah.

****I'm not sure what to do for the rest of this story. Any suggestions?****

OOC again, but whatever, as far as I'm concerned, these are my characters now.

**Disclaimer: As far as everyone else is concerned, they're still JK Rowling's characters :(**

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Draco pressed his forehead to the cool marble of the fireplace, running his hands up and down the wall in a fruitless attempt to quell his reddening face and wandering mind. Hermione lay silently on the floor just behind him, surrounded by a squishy wall of very comfortable pillows. The lone Slytherin cushion supported her head as she slept, breathing deeply like an angel would. If angels slept, that is. Draco stole a glance at her sleeping form, the hips and waist that rose and fell with each inhalation, and then he ran his cheeks along the chilly wall as well, redoubling his efforts as his unsuppressable arousal upsurged. He drew in air through his nose and let it out through his mouth, concentrating on breathing and not what had happened in this room just before Hermione fell asleep.

After she had caught him staring at her legs he had been rendered completely brainless, unable to speak...Unable to do much of anything, really, except for looking at her with wide deer-in-the-headlights eyes and a perfect O for a mouth. She had just stared back at him, smiling, biting her lip, as the gears and wheels of his mind coughed and sputtered, trying desperately to think of something--anything--to say. When he failed, she had cocked her head to one side and smirked. He had blinked wildly, and she had run a fingertip from her ankle all the way up to her hipbone, repeated the action, and then lightly pressed the finger to his nose. Somehow shortly after that she had ended up on the couch next to him, and they had filled the room with their sexual tension. She sat on her haunches, leaned slightly over, facing him, and he sat with her in between his knees, straight up so that their faces were mere inches away. She breathed heavily and in shallow puffs, and his heart beat at a million miles per hour. He growled when she pressed him backwards, moving her hands into the gaps between his arms and his hips so that he was forced to lean back into the arm of the couch. She was hovering above him, she was closing the gap, and as he went to kiss her she dodged it, instead pressing the front of her pants to the front of his. He gasped and wiggled around, trying to kiss her again, but again she turned her head, and leaned farther in so that her head hooked into the curve of his neck. She spread her legs slightly and pressed farther into him, then as he squirmed with delight and frustration and arousal and utter surprise, as he grabbed at her back in an attempt to press her closer against him, she turned her head to face him and let her hot breath wrap around his neck. He shuddered and she licked him, following it with a delightful bite that was sure to leave a mark.

Draco stopped moving altogether and she ran her hands down his back, rolling off of him and onto the floor. He watched her with wide eyes, fingering the spot where she had bitten him, and she sat cross-legged on the patch of pillows, looking at him with an expression of triumph and expectancy. She had gotten the best of him. She'd marked him, the sneaky bitch!

Not long after that she fell asleep.

As she breathed, he once again felt the place where her teeth had sunk into his skin, and he moaned at the thought of her licking his neck. She stirred and he remembered to keep quiet. Hermione, truth be told, was a _kinky girl_! Where in the hell had she learned how to do that? Probably in one of her multifarious books. She'd probably memorized the Kama Sutra, too, he thought with a grin. He needed a mirror. He needed to see the tiny purple bruise she had undoubtedly given him. He retrieved his wand from his butt pocket and recited the spell, remembering to move his wand in the appropriate way.

It failed once. He tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

He frowned angrily at his wand, banged it against the base of his hand, and tried a third time.

No luck. As he raised it to repeat himself, he was stopped by Hermione's voice.

"You're doing it wrong," she mused. He blushed furiously and forced himself to look at her. She sat lazily with one hand propping her head, holding the Slytherin pillow with the other hand. He spoke slowly and prayed for control of his voice.

"And what, pray tell, is the proper way to do it, then?" She held out her hand and he placed his wand in it, then she cleared her throat and positioned it facing downwards.

_"Speculus,"_ she half-whispered. A silvery beam rose out from the tip of his wand, taking the shape of a six inch by six inch glass mirror. She smiled smugly, obviously pleased with herself. "There, see?" she continued. She handed him the wand and suddenly he was too embarrassed to look into the mirror. He coughed and felt himself blush, then he raised it so that it blocked her face and carefully examined the skin on his neck.

"It's a bit lower than that," she coached. He closed his eyes in his discomfort.

"Hermione, I can find it," he hissed back. She giggled. Finally he caught it: a small red oval, much like a fingerprint. He was filled with excitement, but was careful not to let it show at all. "Why did you do that?" he asked her, lowering the mirror to catch her gaze. She blinked twice and stared at him.

"I'm not sure, really," she responded. "Did you enjoy it?" He grinned despite himself, and she raised one eyebrow, taunting him. "Well, then, what does it matter!"

"It's just that now I've got this obvious red blemish standing out against my perfect white skin," he reminded her, pointing at it. "It's not like it'll go unnoticed."

"You do have the reputation for being rather like a male prostitute, no one will be surprised." That was true, actually.

"They'll be surprised that it's from _you,_" he said honestly.

"Are you going to tell anyone it's from me?" she countered. He thought about it.

"...Who would believe me?" he said finally.

Hermione smiled in response, cupping her face with her hands smugly and seating herself back onto the maroon couch where the two had cavorted. There was silence for a few seconds as Draco tried to draw up enough courage for the next question.

"Would you let me mark you?" he asked finally. Hermione crossed her legs and looked up at him.

"Well, firstly, you're not supposed to ask my permission," she began. "You should just do it and surprise me." Draco's stomach leapt to his throat at this suggestion. "And secondly, no, you may not. Not a single person would be bothered if _you_ were to walk around with a hickey, but if it were _me?_ People would start asking questions. And since Ronald and I are so obviously on the outs, they'd start looking for other explanations. Don't be so thick."

"Why wouldn't you let me kiss you?" Draco blurted out. He'd been meaning to ask her, but not exactly like that. He blushed after he said it and her eyes locked onto his. She said nothing. "I mean--" he clarified. "I mean, you gave me a _hickey_, but you wouldn't let me _kiss_ you."

"A kiss," Hermione began, "is more...intimate. It's not something that should be shared on a couch in the Room of Requirement."

"I disagree," Draco said bitterly.

"Well, you would, wouldn't you?"

* * *

Together they left the Room of Requirement, and he watched as the door disintegrated into nothing, hiding back in the wall, completely invisible to any passersby. He followed her back down the staircase and past the Gryffindor Tower, past the Slytherin Dungeons and to the main entrance.

Together they walked out into the mid-afternoon sun, shielding their eyes with their palms and taking wondrous gulpfuls of clean, fresh air.

Together they sat down next to the lake. Before Draco could even open his mouth to say anything, two annoyingly familiar voices pierced the area around them.

"What if she comes back pregnant?" came one voice.

"If he tries to rape her, we can take her to Madam Pomfrey or Professor McGonagall or something. And if he succeeds, she's smart enough to use a contraceptive spell."

"What if she comes back and he's beaten her up?" the first voice said.

"Then we'll find him and rip his arms off, of course," the second voice responded. Draco rolled his eyes and Hermione exhaled angrily, and she turned around to face her friends, who had obviously not seen her yet.

"I'm not pregnant, and I've not been beaten up," Hermione said loudly. Ron jumped and Harry turned quickly, both startled.

"Oy, Hermione!" Ron yelled. "We've been looking for you!"

Harry hit him in the stomach with the back of his hand. "What he means is...are you alright?" Harry asked. The two were obviously ignoring Draco, which was fine by him.

"I'm fine."

"Good, then _whaddidyoumean_ by storming off on us like that this morning?! Have you gone daft?!" Ron pressed, raising his voice with every word. Hermione raised her eyes heavenwards and Harry hit him again.

"Hermione, you're coming with us," he said, picking her up by her arms.

"Perhaps you mean, 'Hermione, would you like to come with us?'" she retorted, drawing her arm violently out of his grasp.

"'Hermione, would you like to come with us?'" Harry repeated, hands on his hips.

"_NO!_" she responded, stamping her foot in defiance.

"_Hermione!_" Ron pleaded.

"I am not your little sister, Ronald! You can't tell me to do anything!" Ron sputtered angrily. "And you, Harry!" she continued, turning to him. "Just because you're the Fantastic and Marvelous Boy Who Lived Through Potential Mental Trauma doesn't give you the right to shout out orders everywhere!" Harry took a step back, obviously offended. "I'm not one of your dispensable boy buddies," Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. "I have feelings, and I have a brain, and you both know how those two things can influence my judgment." With this, she conjured a single yellow canary, and both boys shrank back in fear.

"Hermione, you'd better come to the Common Room later, we need to talk," Ronald stumbled, raising his hand to swat the little bird away.

"We'll see you at dinner, Hermione, please?" Harry finished, using his arms to cover his head.

"_Goodbye_, Harry. _Goodbye, _Ronald." She raised her wand again and before she could utter a single word, both boys tore off for the building, covering their faces and shielding their heads, screaming as they went.

* * *

Later that night, Draco stood pensively just outside the doors of the Great Hall. He watched as first year after first year flooded into the dining room until he was the only one left in the hallway. He gave himself a quick pep talk, reminding himself just how devilishly handsome and impossibly clever he was, and then he took a deep breath. He opened the doors in a normal fashion tonight, making no scene and keeping his head down as he hurried over to the Gryffindor table. Hermione was leaned over her plate, deep in a heated debate with her two insufferable friends. Draco bared his teeth at the handsome and well-built boy Hermione was sitting next to, clearing his throat as he stood behind her. Harry and Ron looked up at the same time, distaste obscuring their faces. Draco smiled, batting his eyelashes at them. Hermione whipped around in her chair, facing him with an expression of shock and fear. He was suddenly very self-conscious of the mark on his neck.

"Bloody hell, it's _him_ again," Ron spat. "Does he ever give it a rest?" Harry merely glared at Draco, refusing to speak and instead clenching his teeth so that his temples and jaw protruded.

Hermione stared at him, fork poised in her hand almost as a weapon.

"Miss Granger," Draco began. Her cheeks burned red, and, with some satisfaction, Draco noticed that Ron's also burned red. "Accompany me?" He outstretched his hand and gave a little bow, extending his right foot as only a gentleman would know how to do.

Hermione threw Harry and Ron a fleeting glance, an expression of both remorse and sadistic enjoyment. She pressed her palm into his, to his surprise, and allowed him to lift her off the bench.

Harry yelled something angry after the two, and Ron once again made incomprehensible sounds at their retreating forms. No one else noticed.

Draco led her out of the double doors and into the empty hallway.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked. He didn't answer, instead brought her into the gap between the solid stone wall and a carefully enchanted staircase, mere meters away from the doors to the Great Hall. "Malfoy, what are we--"

"_Draco_," he growled, and with a final glance around, he swung her so that her back hit the wall. She made a little noise at the back of her throat.

"Draco, wh--" He raised both of her hands up above her head and pinned them there with one muscular fist, and he lowered the other one to wrap around her waist. She exhaled sharply. "Draco," she repeated.

"Hermione," he answered. He brought his mouth to the side of her face and breathed in her ear, causing her to shudder delightfully in his grasp. To his extreme pleasure, she involuntarily raised one leg and wrapped it around his back, arching into him. He took a moment just to look at her, and her breath came in ragged gasps, her skin turning red and rosy with embarrassment and lust. Then he lowered his head and bit at her neck, running his tongue over the places where his teeth collided with her skin. She pressed her body into him, her hands trapped helplessly above her head, and he pinned her against the wall with his torso. He continued biting along her collar bone, leaving mark after mark from her shoulder to her ear. She leaned her head to one side, allowing him better access, and he almost pissed himself with the realization that _he, Draco Malfoy,_ was elliciting tiny moans of pleasure from _Hermione Granger._ He moaned into her neck at the thought, and she imitated the noise, pulling and twisting her hands, trying to make him let go. Finally he stopped with her neck and stared directly into her eyes, closed with ecstasy. When she opened them they were dark and half-lidded.

He released her hands and they went immediately around his neck, pulling him closer to her. He lowered his mouth onto hers, pressing into her lips just once before he pulled away. Her breathing, shallow and uncontrolled, rolled into his ears in perfect harmony with the pounding of his heart and the flopping of his stomach. He grinned wildly at her shoulder and they stayed, unmoving, pressed against the wall with her arms and legs around him and his hands and knees supporting her, holding her up. She rolled against him once, then twice, and stopped. He pressed his lips to her cheek and dropped her to the floor, straightening his clothes as he did so. Her shirt had ridden up and she pulled it down, adjusting her hair.

She laughed lightly, a quiet, tinkling laugh, and he looked at her questioningly.

"_Speculus,_" she muttered, and a beam of silver light exuded from her wandtip. She examined her neck in the mirror, pressing her finger against the six or seven little bruises all in a perfect line. "What am I going to tell them?" she asked, pocketing her wand.

"Say you were attacked by a troll in the bathroom," he responded, grinning as she opened the door to the Great Hall.

He squeezed her hand a final time and ambled to the Slytherin table, careful to catch Amber's eye as he did so. He tossed his blonde hair triumphantly and blinked regally a few times, resting his fork against the skin where he knew his hickey resided. She glared at him with such malevolent hatred that he couldn't help but laugh. Just as he sat, he heard Ron's voice rise up above everyone else's.

"OY, WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL--"


	9. Nine: Rejection and Reunion

Haha, oh my. This story is rather fun to write, I must say.

Welcome back, Crabbe and Goyle. And we all missed you, Pansy.

There'll be a surprise in the chapters to come, believe me. ;)

**Disclaimer: JK Rowling stole Harry Potter from me.**

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"_Hermione,_" Draco whispered again, leaning forward to catch her ear. On his left, Crabbe cracked his knuckles, and on his right Goyle raised his upper lip in an expression of false toughness. Draco gave each of them a specific look, and they both furrowed their brows like apes and scooted their chairs back to allow for more privacy. "_Hermione Granger_!" She turned around in her seat.

"_What?!_" she hissed.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape's voice rang out. Her face drained of color but she did not face forward, instead pursing her lips in frustration. On her left Harry grit his teeth, and on her right Ron ran his nails along the splintering wooden table. Draco fought the urge to smirk in satisfaction and pointed discreetly to the mark on his neck. Hermione blushed and turned around, and Draco raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Her marks were gone. He spent the rest of the class period adjusting his seat so that he could look at her neck from different angles, though he was absolutely confident that the bruises made by him resided on the right side of her neck, the side that was completely exposed and yet completely unblemished. Piggy Pansy Parkinson waggled her fingers at him from the table to the right and Draco flipped his middle finger at her briefly before facing the blackboard again.

When the bell rang to signal the start of lunch time, Draco fell back deliberately. He sent his goons to the Great Hall without him, and when Pansy wrapped her arms around his neck, he detached her with moderate disgust.

"Drakie, my handsome lil' lover," she appealed huskily.

"Pansy, my homely lil' stalker," he retorted, voice dripping with dislike. She frowned and he batted her away, assuring her that he'd meet up with her in the Common Room after he had a quick bite to eat.

Yeah, right.

As soon as Ron had grabbed his books and secured them into his fractured knapsack, he reached for Hermione's hand, wrapping his fingers around it possessively in a way that made Draco seethe with territoriality. She pressed her fingernails into his palm, forcing him to release her hand, and then gave him a reprimanding glare. He glared back at her and Harry placed his hand on her shoulder, steering her out of the classroom and into the hallway.

As Draco hurried after her, her angry protests barraged his ears.

"I've got legs, Harry Potter!" she yelled.

"I know you've got legs!"

"I'm not blind either, Harry Potter!"

"I know you're not blind!"

"And you're not my mother, Harry Potter!"

"I know I'm not your mother!"

"Then get the bloody hell _off_ me!" she commanded, twisting around and attempting to bite him. He released her with a pained expression. Several moments passed in silence.

"Are you coming to eat lunch with us, Hermione?" he asked pleadingly, his face displaying pathetic doubt. "Er, me?" he corrected as she tossed a quick look of bitterness at Ronald.

"You know I'll be there, Harry," she answered, running the knuckles of her hand over his cheek in what Draco _prayed_ was a friendly gesture. Harry perked up considerably, making Draco ever so slightly nauseous as he rolled his eyes.

"Please hurry," he urged, removing her hand from his face and giving it a quick squeeze. Ron hit him in the arm, warning him, and Harry dropped her hand. She nodded solemnly and made a gesture suggesting he leave now. Harry caught Draco's eye and his teeth flashed momentarily, but he thought better of it and made to walk away. Ron, on the other hand, stood rooted to the ground with his fists clenched fiercely at his sides and his jaw set, eyes bright and ears reddening. Harry glanced back at him and took his arm. "Let's _move_, Ronald," he called, dragging him away. Ron held Draco's gaze for a few more seconds before fully turning around and engaging in conversation with his best friend.

"Just once, just _once_ I'd like to..." Ron's voice died away as his figure grew smaller and smaller. Draco cleared his throat, forcing Hermione to turn around and face him.

She looked him square in the eye...then she turned on her heel and scurried down the hallway away from him.

"Hey!" Draco yelled in surprise. He pursued her on swift feet, matching her stride as soon as he came close enough. "What happened?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, keeping her eyes forward. Instead of answering, he merely pressed his finger against the side of her neck. She recoiled and her pace slowed slightly, but she regained it in a flash.

"I, um...I concealed it," she told him reluctantly.

"With a concealment charm?"

"No, with concealer, dolt."

"What on earth is that?" Draco asked thickly, running his finger again along the length of her neck. She brushed his hand away and huffed at his ignorance.

"It's just something to hide things like that," she answered. He grabbed her arm and stopped her in the middle of the hallway, causing a temporary traffic jam that sent the younger students sprawling in all directions in order to avoid crashing into the upperclassmen. She looked into his eyes, her expression one of confusion and annoyance, and he bent his head, running his tongue from the base of her neck to the bottom of her ear, making her squeal and press her knees together. To his disappointment, she wrenched her arm away from him and rubbed the saliva from her neck in horror. "Malfoy!" she berated.

"_Malfoy?_" he repeated, the word hitting him like a fifty pound weight. She blushed, the makeup coming off easily in her hand, and patted her skirt to remove it.

"You can't just do that in the hallways like this!" she hissed angrily, her voice a barely audible whisper. He felt hurt and ashamed, confident that she would have liked the attention that came with necking in the middle of the hall.

"But--" he began defensively.

"No, don't 'but' at me," she responded angrily. "No more."

He subconsciously pressed his index and middle fingers to the red oval on his neck, his eyebrows knitting together in bewilderment and chagrin. "Hermione," he attempted. His voice, to his own embarrassment, was small and weak, utterly defeated by her unexpected rebuff.

"No, Draco," she repeated. She mouthed the words 'Not here,' and as he allowed her to walk away he felt more betrayed than he'd ever felt in his entire life.

* * *

"Are we only going to be friends when it's convenient for _you_?!" Draco screamed angrily. "Do you know what _I've _sacrificed for you?! My reputation, my father's respect, my girlfriends! Are you aware that I was willing to give that all up for _you_? Do you know that, you insufferable, intolerable, altogether unbearable ulcer of the heart?"

He went on verbally abusing his pillow, every now and then stopping his pacing to allow for greater emphasis.

"I don't know what I ever saw in you, Hermione Jean Granger," he shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the fluffy cushion propped against the headboard. "But whatever it is, I assure you, any and all feelings I had for you are _long fucking gone!_" He breathed heavily for a minute, glaring daggers at Hermione's effigy, wishing it was a voodoo doll so that he could kick it and send her flying into a wall somewhere in the castle.

Finally he slumped backwards against his door, crumpling in a heap of pent-up emotion. "God, how I wish that were true," he whispered to himself. "Why do you have to do this to me?" he asked the pillow loudly. It didn't respond and he gesticulated to show his frustration. "No answer? That figures. Women," he spat the last word and shook his head. "I hate you," he reminded it for the fifth time in seven minutes. "Hermione Jean Granger, I hate you." He sighed and scratched at the back of his neck, pulling his white wifebeater down over his knees. He allowed his mind to race all over the place, shaking his head bitterly at appropriate times and laughing out loud at others. He supposed he would seem rather crazy if anyone saw him at this moment. As if on cue, a knock sounded at his door.

"DRRAAAAYYYYYY-KKKIIIIEEEE!"

"Pansy fucking Parkinson, I swear to god if you don't get the fuck away from my door right now, I am going to Obliviate you so hard that you'll think you're a seahorse!"

There was a ten second pause, and then, "But Draaayyy-Draaayyy!" she whined.

"GOD DAMNIT, PANSY, YOU CHEAP FAT WHORE, GO AWAY!"

"Fat?!" came an angry snort.

* * *

Draco glanced at the clock he had conjured just a few days ago. Nine forty-three. He sneered. So he had missed dinner, big deal! It's not like she would notice, anyway. He stuck his tongue out at the Hermione pillow and used his elbow to knock it off his four-poster and onto the hardwood floor. He wasn't hungry, anyway. In the silence of his room he muttered a charm that caused the drapes of his bed to transform magically into the moon and the stars, sighing dreamily as he pointed out Orion's belt, the Seven Sisters, and Barnaby the Blind to himself.

At eleven twenty-seven there was another knock at his door.

"Pansy, I am going to fucking murder you," he warned. "I know the Killing Curse, and you know I've been practicing."

"The best you'd be able to do is poke a hole in my stomach," came the voice from the other side, and Draco's head shot off of his pillow.

"Amber?"

"Open the door, Malfoy."

He obediently undid the bolt and twisted the knob, poking his head around the door frame to see who stood on the other side.

She pushed it the rest of the way open and let herself in, hitting him in the face with her bushy mane as she did so.

"Who in the hell is Amber?" she asked, resting her hands on her hips. Draco tried to fight the grin that he was sure would eat its way across his face, but, finding himself unable to, he merely turned away from her to close the door. How horrible it was to be a slave to this girl. He needed so badly to hate her right now, and yet here he was, giggling like a little schoolgirl at her mere presence.

"How in the hell did you get in here?" he countered, nervously kicking the pillow representation of her underneath his bed.

"Oh, it wasn't hard," she responded, leaning against the dresser and examining her fingers. "I knew where the Common Room was. All I had to do was ask for Vincent Crabbe, and he came out and saw me, then as he went back in he stupidly gave the password. From there I just smiled and came up the stairs, and here I am."

"What about all the people in the Common Room?" he asked.

"No one said anything," she shrugged. "Sure, they stared, but no one _said_--"

"What are you doing here?" he asked, making his voice as vicious as possible. She blinked, taken by surprise.

"Well I...I supposed I owed you an apology for today. I knew I hurt your feelings, but really, what could I do?"

"So, that's it then?" he said bitterly. "We really _are_ going to be friends only when it's convenient for you?"

"Friends? Why, Draco, I think we're more than friends," she laughed, brushing her hair aside and tapping her line of hickeys with her index finger.

He was stunned into silence. _'More than friends?_'

"Do you...you don't mean I'm your...?"

"Oh, no, of course not," she answered quickly, blushing. His stomach sank in disappointment. "Don't be silly. If anything, we're more like..._secret _friends, who enjoy sucking on each other's necks and dry humping each other."

He fought himself to keep from laughing.

"In private, of course," she finished with a wink. There was quiet for a moment.

"Alright," Draco began. "I understand all that, I suppose. But the way you broke the news to me was sort of--rude, shall we say?"

"Oh, it was absolutely dreadful," Hermione agreed, tossing her hand as she said it. "And I really am sorry, but, what could I do? We were already in the hallways, surrounded by Gryffindors, and all I could think was, 'Blimey, if Ron and Harry find out that these marks are from _Draco Malfoy_...'"

"They don't know?!"

"Of course they don't know!" Hermione assured, aghast.

"Where the hell do your idiot friends think they came from?"

Hermione laughed. "Well, Harry hasn't noticed, and Ron reckons they're from him..."

"From _him_?" Draco interrupted in terror.

"He's never properly given a hickey, he figures they're just showing up now."

Draco collapsed in a fit of laughter and held his sides, unable to breathe. Hermione smiled as well and for a long while they just sat and grinned at each other.

"Who's seen yours?" Hermione asked finally.

"Oh, everyone," Draco answered. "The only one who knows they're from you is this American girl, Amber Fisch--"

"Is this the Amber that you thought was me?" Hermione pressed, her features hardening.

"Yeah, but calm down, I only know her because she...Er, because she wanted to know who you were."

"That's flattering," Hermione responded, but her tone was unconvincing. "Anyone else seen it?"

"Crabbe and Goyle, but they're not surprised at all. Oh, and Professor Flitwick, but he just tried to wipe it off. He figured it was a bit of ketchup left over from breakfast."

"Well, he's never had very good eyesight," Hermione mused, her beautiful smile spreading out from ear to ear.

Somewhere in the middle of this exchange, Hermione had ended up next to Draco on the bed, and now she flopped backwards and fell past the curtains surrounding it. "This is rather lovely," she announced, pointing thoughtfully at the constellations moving about above her head.

"It is, isn't it?" Draco agreed, and he laid down next to her. "I'm rather skilled with spells, in case you haven't noticed."

"I am, too, in case you haven't noticed." Draco frowned.

"Yes, I have noticed, actually," he said in an angry monotone. "I must admit it's rather unfair."

Hermione turned to face him, resting her elbow on his pillow and wrapping an arm around his waist, moving closer to him and bringing herself into the warm bubble of his body heat. He couldn't help but feel absolutely perfect in the glow of her smile, couldn't help but feel a soaring in his belly as she pressed her face into his chest. He couldn't help himself as he kissed her forehead, and couldn't help himself from bringing his hand down to feel her lower back, to feel the smooth roundness of her bottom. He couldn't help himself from whispering, "_Hermione_," into her ear, just as she couldn't help the shudder that shook her body as he brought his fingers under her shirt to touch her belly.

But she stopped his hands and sat up, making him pout like a first grader with no popsicle. "Hermione!" he whined, crossing his arms.

"I'm leaving, Draco," she responded, rolling off his bed and planting a kiss on his lips, causing him to lurch forward, wanting more time, needing more contact.

She picked his pillow off the floor and threw it onto his bed, then swung open the door and waved goodbye.

To Draco's alarm, in the doorway stood a very shocked and confused young man, with his fist poised to knock and his eyebrows lost in his hairline.

Hermione froze and Draco's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as he stumbled to find an explanation for the Muggle-born in his room.

Blaise Zabini leered at the two, his slanting eyes narrowing at the obvious sexual implications of Hermione's guilty blush and Draco's half-naked form.

"Well, hello, hello!"

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	10. Ten: Blaise Zabini and Fucking Around

Oops, I almost forgot this part. Welcome to the wonderful world of teenagers, my friends, where nothing is sacred. : /

Oh, Draco, it's a shame that you can never fully express your feelings.

_**REVIEW, I DEMAND IT.**_

**Disclaimer: Potty, Weasel, Herms, Drakie, and all of them mainstream characters are all JK's. William and Amber are mine, however.**

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Blaise laughed, a deep booming laugh, and hit his knee as he did so. Draco sneered and rolled his eyes and Hermione cupped her face, embarrassed.

"So that right there," and here he pointed to Draco's mark. "That right there is from _Hermione Jean Granger?!_"

"Yes," Draco answered through grit teeth.

"And this one," he pointed to Hermione's, "or should I say _these _ones, are from _Draco Fucking Scorpius Malfoy?!_"

"You are correct, sir, now get the fuck out of my room before I punch you in the head," Draco replied.

"Oh, sure, Drakie, I'll go," Blaise said, getting up off the floor. "Sure I'll go. And I'll be sure to tell everyone in the Common Room about the sweet little Gryffindor princess you've got locked up here in your serpent's tower." He winked and Draco closed his legs self-consciously.

"Y'know what, Blaise? I think you're the young male version of Dolores Umbridge."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Draco," Blaise replied, pausing at the door.

"Wait," Hermione groaned. "Mister Zabini, what will it take for you to keep your mouth shut about all this?"

"About all what, exactly?" Blaise asked, turning slowly to face her.

"About...er...my neck? And his neck? And me, up here in his room?" She jabbed her thumb in Draco's direction.

Blaise pursed his lips thoughtfully, drumming his fingertips against his chin. "We-ell," he began. "I'm not sure what you two could do for me that would give me more satisfaction than simply opening this door and shouting, 'Oy! Hermione Granger's in here!' So why don't you tell me?" He smirked and bent low so that they were eye level. Hermione looked nervously at Draco, but he merely raised his hands up in self-defense.

"Don't look at me," he said. "My best idea is to throw him out the window." Blaise frowned at him.

"We could...owe you one?" Hermione tried, her voice small and doubting. Blaise laughed his booming laugh again.

"Nice try, Princess," he answered.

"We could pay you," she murmured, glancing at Draco for a reaction.

"Pay me in what, exactly?" He leered at her cheekily and she went bright red. Draco rolled his eyes.

"Money!" Hermione squeaked, scooting backwards on the floor.

"You're a horny bastard, Blaise!" Draco reprimanded, shaking his head.

"I wouldn't make accusations, Drakie, not with this young virginal witch in your bed chambers." Draco opened his mouth to respond, then closed it in defeat.

"I could help you with your studies," Hermione suggested confidently. Draco scoffed.

"Hermione, he's top of the class. Smartest Slytherin sixth-year I've ever heard of."

Blaise shrugged modestly. "I do what I can," he mused, breathing on his knuckles and rubbing them on his shirt. Hermione paled.

"Blaise, what do you want?" she asked in frustration.

"I'm not entirely sure," he answered, falling from a kneeling position to a sitting position. On the bed, Draco leaned forward, listening carefully. "I originally wanted _you_, I'll admit, but I know that if I ever made a pass Draco would chop my balls off--"

"I would," he interjected honestly.

"--and then I wanted the money, but, hell! My mother sends me enough of that. And I obviously don't need help on my studies, Princess, so what's left?"

"Him?" Hermione offered. Both boys straightened up considerably. Draco was the first to object.

"Don't be disgusting!"

"Yeah, don't be disgusting!"

"That's completely uncalled for."

"Totally wrong."

"You can't just suggest--"

"Why on earth would we ever--"

"I mean, not even if he were the last--"

"That's just terrible."

"Terrible!" Draco finished, crossing his arms over his chest to close the matter.

"Alright then, there's really nothing," Hermione said, suddenly businesslike. "Unless you can think of anything, Blaise, which we both know you can't. So!" She stood up and clapped her hands together. "That's that, and it was lovely talking to you." She picked him up by the arms and steered him towards the door, utterly bewildered. "You let me know when you've got something I can give to you, and we'll work something out. Goodbye!" she called, ushering him out and into the hallway.

When she closed the door, Blaise's voice rang out from the other side. "HEY!"

She turned to face Draco, who was laughing and kicking his feet on the bed. As he quieted, he realized that she was still in his room, despite the fact that she had made to leave forty-five minutes ago. She must have realized the same thing because, before he could say anything, she was outside.

"Goodbye," he called through the door.

* * *

At breakfast the following morning Draco mushed his sausage with his fork, Amber's words going through him unnoticed. He was watching Hermione. She sat next to Harry, across from Ron, shoveling eggs onto her plate and taking tiny sips from her orange juice. Every now and then she'd shake her head and point her fork at the redhead across from her, widening her eyes to make a point that he wouldn't be able to deny. He'd throw his arms up in frustration and bang his fist on the table, and she'd roll her eyes and scoff, allowing him to babble on and on about subjects that obviously didn't interest her.

"Draco Malfoy!" He looked up.

"What, Amber, what!"

"You haven't been listening to a word I said," she hissed.

"No, I can't say that I have," he replied, taking a swig of apple juice and cutting into his meat nonchalantly. She bit her fingernails into the tablecloth in frustration.

"That girl isn't even pretty."

"She's beautiful," Draco answered. "Unlike you. You can spot that freckled beast," here he indicated her nose, "from outer space, probably."

Amber let out a single taunting bark of a laugh. "Oh, Draco, don't you see? She'll choose her friends over you, and you'll come crawling to me."

Draco frowned, furrowing his brows in disapproval. "Who are you now, Dr. Seuss?" She pursed her lips.

"That wasn't intentional."

"I'm sure it wasn't."

"Bite me."

"When and where?" he said automatically.

She leaned forward, eyes half-lidded, a smirk erupting on her face. "Your room. Tonight. Ten o' clock."

Draco shot back as if he'd been bitten by a spider, barely concealing his horrified expression. "Amber Fisch, you are a repulsive human being!"

"Does it turn you on?" she asked, batting her eyelashes and resting her chin in her hand.

"It makes me sick," he answered angrily, crossing his legs under the table.

"You make me sick, Draco," she bit back, dropping her hand so fast that it made him jump ever so slightly. "You, pureblooded Draco Malfoy, head over heels for some," here she sniffed a few times, extending her lower lip and opening her eyes wide, "snivelling," she blinked several times, "innocent," she pressed a finger into the dimples at the side of her mouth, "young Gryffindoress, a close friend of Hairy Potty, and A Mudblood. Someone you were taught from _birth_ to hate. Someone your _parents_ hate. Do you honestly think you'll be able to make her yours?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," she answered for him.

"This doesn't concern you," he said, exuding as much venom as he could force into his dripping voice.

"No, no it doesn't. I'm completely unconcerned, Draco, because I know that even if _you_ think you're in love with her, she's going to get bored of you and start fucking around with her cute redheaded bee-eff-eff."

Draco seethed, his ice grey eyes flashing in hatred.

"He understands her," Amber added, extending her lower lip again. Then she laughed--annoyingly, abrasively, sarcastically. "Or, you never know, maybe she's already fucking around!"

"Amber, you--"

"I know, Drakie, I know. I make you angry. And that's because you know I'm right, and there's absolutely nothing you can say about it." She beamed at him, downed the last of her ice water, and stood up. He covered his head with his hands and rubbed at his immaculate blonde hair, mumbling to himself as he did so.

A few minutes later, Hermione stood and caught Draco's eye immediately. She waved goodbye to Harry and completely ignored Ron, picking up her book bag and making her way to the door. Shocked, Draco realized that the good-looking and well-built young man that she sat next to at dinner time was standing up as well. He quickly wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, dropping it onto the table and politely bidding adieu to the Gryffindors around him. He then sped up after Hermione, catching her halfway between the door and the table, and tapped her arm to stop her. Eyes narrowing, Draco carefully evaluated the brief exchange between them.

He clasped his hands together and spoke, taking her by surprise, and she turned to face him, gesturing as she answered, then grinning broadly as he returned a reply. She laughed and then he laughed, and she touched his shoulder, goddammit, she _touched his shoulder_, and she wouldn't let go either. He withdrew a feather quill from his back pocket and she denied it, instead withdrawing her wand, licking the tip, and muttering a spell. Draco watched as she pressed the wand to his palm, wrote something down, and pocketed it again. He beamed at her and she nodded, smiling politely as he looked down at what she'd left on his hand. She turned back and continued on her way to the door, and the dark-haired good-looking well-built extremely-annoying young man retreated to his seat, perfect white teeth glinting in the light shining in from the windows.

Draco, breakfast left unfinished, hurried out after her.

"Hermione!" he shouted, speeding up to meet her.

"What is it, Draco?" she asked, slowing down considerably.

He sputtered angrily for a moment or two, stammering and stumbling over his words, humiliated at his sudden inability to form coherent sentences.

"...What is it, Draco?" she repeated, pausing to stare him directly in the eye.

"Who _is _that boy?!" he managed finally, jabbing a finger behind them.

"Who?" she echoed.

"Who, who?" Draco mocked. "The one you were just talking to, that's who!"

"You're not talking about William?"

"William? Who in the bloody hell is William?!" Hermione grinned.

"He's just a boy in the grade above us. He's in my Arithmancy class." Draco stared angrily ahead. He knew he should've taken Arithmancy.

"And what was he asking of you?" he spat.

"My telephone number," she answered smugly, smiling to herself in a way that made Draco's stomach turn over. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, throwing his hands in the air.

"_Your telephone number?!_" he repeated incredulously.

"Oh, Draco, do calm down," she hushed, pressing a finger to his lips. "It's not like I'm your _girlfriend._"

All of his internal organs dropped a foot into the pit of his stomach, splashing ice cold liquids throughout his entire body and numbing him through and through. He ran her words over in his mind again and again.

"I mean, you still fuck around, right?" she asked, her hair flipping as she faced him.

"Do you?" he managed to choke out. She cocked her head to one side, brown eyes catching the light as she did so, mesmerizing him and filling him with panic at the same time.

"Well, I don't fuck," she answered bluntly.


	11. Eleven: Goopy Hair and Intruder Two

**You guuyyysssssss.**

**The story was actually officially over with the last chapter, and I was intent on not writing anymore for this story, but then I "accidentally" wrote a million Chapter 11's and it became really frustrating not to update. So, I think this was my favorite. I hope you guys like it too! And I hope nobody's mad at me for continuing. What do you think? I can just take this chapter down if you guys liked the last ending better. Don't forget to review, please! Oh, haha, PG13+ again. Sorry.  
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**Disclaimer: In Soviet Russia, Harry Potter owns you!**

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Draco entered the greenhouse hesitantly, glancing into every corner in his search for that altogether much-too-annoying Gryffindor Trio. He spotted two of them, the more annoying ones, standing with their dorky goggles on at a table by themselves, arguing loudly over whose gloves belonged to whom. Draco scoffed and continued searching, finally spotting Hermione amongst a gaggle of other students, retrieving supplies for her little group of friends. He pushed past a Gryffindor in his haste and she objected loudly.

"Oy, you! Watch where you're walking!"

"No, imbecile, _you_ watch where _I'm_ walking!" he answered dismissively. "No one even _cares_ where _you're_ walking." She expelled her breath loudly and Draco stuck his tongue out at her before grabbing a pair of red goggles to protect his beautiful eyes and quickening his pace to reach the bushy-haired maiden.

She turned around and jumped when she saw him, then sighed, her hand pressed to her chest in alarm. "You scared me, Malfoy."

"Draco," he corrected automatically.

She lifted one corner of her mouth and raised one eyebrow in a seductive manner. "Draco," she whispered. He grinned involuntarily.

"Merlin, I love that," he whispered back, wrapping one arm around her waist. She batted his arm away, eyes widening significantly, and shook her head from side to side warningly. She gestured at the Gryffindors standing all around her, each engrossed in their own work. "No one is looking!" he hissed in response.

"I'll bet you a hundred galleons that Ron and Harry are looking," she answered, her voice quiet and intense at the same time.

"They count as no one!"

"They're still my friends, Malfoy," Hermione said, raising her voice slightly.

"Why?!"

"Because they care about me!"

"I care about you!" he whispered. She smiled.

"I know, and it's almost sweet. Which is kind of gross."

"It's gross for me, too," Draco answered, looking away from her and making a face of disgust at no one in particular.

"I like it, though," she added, shielding herself from her friends' gaze with his body and then tucking a lock of blonde hair behind his ear.

"I want to kiss you," he whispered suddenly. Her eyes filled with horror.

"No!"

"Please?"

"No, Malfoy!"

"Why?"

"Why do you think, ignoramus?"

"...Because we're surrounded by Gryffindors and Slytherins alike, all of whom know us far too well to be accepting of our exceedingly complicated relationship," he sighed in a monotone, obviously rehearsed.

"Good boy," she grinned, patting his cheek with a gloved hand. "Do your work."

"I don't wanna!" he whined, stomping his foot.

"Do your work, people are staring at us," she said, pretending to be engrossed in the jar filled with pickled root of some kind hanging on the wall.

"Nobody is staring at us," Draco answered, pretending to be engrossed in the woodgrain of the table in front of him.

"Go away, now," she whispered in a final matter. "_Draco_." She let it roll off her tongue breathily and fully, lingering a little on the "ay" sound. She smirked and Draco shuddered, slightly aroused and grinning uncontrollably.

"Later?"

"Later," she assured.

Draco picked up one of the disgusting potted plants he was supposed to be depotting, and he held it out in front of himself at arm's length. He realized suddenly that he didn't have a partner, and was filled with panic as Amber Fisch, smirk ever-present, sauntered up to him in a haughty manner.

She had no right to be haughty.

She was a Mudblood.

Draco thought this with disgust and sneered at her as she came near. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her silver goggles matched her tie. Vaguely he wondered if she had had them customized. God knows she had the money to do so. "You're working with me," she announced, pulling him by his sleeve to a work table on the opposite side of Potty and Weasel's.

"I suppose I have no say in the matter?" he asked, his voice dripping with dislike.

"Of course not."

"You really are rather pushy," he continued, ripping his arm out of her grasp. She glared at him. "And that perpetual scowl does nothing to brighten your features."

"It doesn't seem to bother anyone when you do it," she answered, her voice like silk.

"That's because my features are so inherently bright that I simply _have_ to scowl just to make everyone's lives a bit more bearable. If I didn't, you see, I would be like--like a reverse Medusa. Like a reverse Basilisk, if you will, and staring directly at me would cause the perpetrator to puff into a flock of doves."

"You're quite sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"I have every right to be," Draco replied, raising himself up to full height. She rolled her eyes and it was silent as she put on her gloves and gingerly lowered her goggles. Draco took this time to search the room again for Hermione, and he found her with that annoyingly handsome and superiorly built and significantly older Gryffindor. He let out a bark-like shout and clutched the table in surprise and anger, watching in alarm as William (Draco had yet to come up with a suitably insulting name for him) raised his hands and lowered Hermione's goggles onto her face for her. Hermione was smiling. Draco was not. "Why is he touching her?!" he hissed to himself. Amber looked up sharply and followed his gaze.

"...Oh, ho ho," she laughed, moving a stray tendril of hair out of her face. "It looks like little Her-my-she's-ugly has a new boyfriend, doesn't she?" Draco stared at her for a moment.

"Don't call her that. And you can just leave the witty name-calling to me, thanks. You're sort of horrendous at it. And no, she most certainly does not have a new boyfriend, Fisch-face," Draco prattled, looking back at Hermione anxiously. Amber glared at him.

"I thought it was clever."

"You thought incorrectly, dear."

* * *

After Herbology, Draco's hands and face were spattered with the green goop of the deciduous dungleby root--not to mention what it did to his hair and robes. He wiped his pale fingers disgustedly on one of the towels provided by Professor Sprout, choosing to stay behind and clean himself off as the rest of the students left. Amber squeezed his butt before picking up her bag and he had thrown his arms in her general direction but missed completely because his goggles were so filthy. Sprout reminded him to clear up and lock the greenhouse when he was finished and he nodded in acknowledgment. To his surprise, not two minutes later, he heard the door to the greenhouse reopen. He couldn't see who it was and instead called out.

"Amber?"

Instead of a response, he felt smooth hands on his face. He repeated the name and stretched his arms out to his sides, helpless. Still no answer. Soft lips pressed against the tip of his nose and he smiled at them, whosoever they belonged to, and prayed that he was not inadvertently enjoying the ministrations of that pig Pansy. Suddenly he found himself able to see and looked down, only to find himself staring directly into Hermione Granger's eyes. She was smirking, head tilted to one side, arms wrapped around his neck and hands still holding the elastic of the goggles pressed to his forehead. He grinned and made to kiss her but she pulled her head back, instead yelling, "Who the hell is Amber?!"

"She's just some annoying Mudb--American! She follows me around and likes me a lot, that's all."

"Do you like her?" Hermione inquired, lowering her arms and resting one hand on his chest.

"No! No, of course not! I think she's a horrible person!" Hermione squeezed her lips together and stared thoughtfully at the area beyond his shoulder. "...Do you like William?"

"I'm not sure," Hermione answered. "I don't know him well enough to say yet, I suppose." Draco's heart committed suicide, leaping up into his head and then soaring a hundred feet into the pit of his stomach.

"That's just dandy," he said bitterly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Real reassuring, that is." Hermione laughed to herself.

"What is it again that you wanted?" she asked, removing her goggles and pulling her hair out of her ponytail. Draco forgot his depression and made a grab for her, grinning wildly.

"You know exactly what I wanted!" He took hold of her hips with his strong hands and she laughed again, hitting his arms lightly with balled-up fists. "May I kiss you, Ms. Granger?" he asked.

"Yes you may, Mr. Malfoy," she answered, allowing him to press her against himself, his body rubbing into hers deliciously. He frowned and thought for a moment.

"Draco," he corrected.

"_Draco_," she answered, whispering the word into his ear. He leaned down to devour her lips and then stopped himself suddenly.

"We have class right now, don't we?" he asked.

"Yes, I suppose we do," she answered, twirling her hair around her finger disappointedly. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What are your friends going to say?" he prompted worriedly.

"I'm not sure. I left them, I told them I'd be up as soon as I returned my goggles. I also told them I forgot my bag."

"You're awfully sneaky," Draco mused.

"No," she laughed. "I really did forget my bag!" She pointed at a chestnut-colored leather satchel resting on the floor a few feet from Draco. They both stared at it for a moment.

"I don't care," Draco hissed after a moment. He pressed his lips hungrily to hers and Hermione, taken off guard, stood frozen in his embrace for a few seconds before melting to his touch. He leaned her onto the examining table and mashed their lips together, breathing heavily and positioning his legs on either side of hers. She pressed her hips up into his and he inhaled sharply, holding her by her lower back as she entangled her hands in his goopy blonde hair. He felt her gasp in surprise at the weird substance, but she kept running her fingers through it nonetheless. He lowered his mouth onto her neck again, licking up her line of red bruises, making her giggle at their well-kept secret, and she spread her legs slightly to allow him better access as she rolled against his nether regions lustily. He opened his mouth and kissed along her neck and she continued to breathe shallowly until he aligned his lips with her ear, whipsering, "Moan, Hermione," and she obliged. She obliged very well as her soft moans hit his inner ear and he moaned along with her, pressing his tongue to hers and hitting his hips against hers time and time again. He ran his goopy hands underneath her shirt and squeezed at her back. She shivered and raked her fingernails along the back of his neck, causing him to detatch from her mouth and growl animalistically, then lower himself onto her with redoubled efforts. Her breathing was ragged and her back was arching into him as the door opened for the second time.


	12. Twelve: Dirty Draco and Winsome William

**Two chapters in one day?!**

**Well, that's how you know I have no life. Reviews would be nice, I think. What do you think of William?  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to YOUUUU! (Crank dat Soulja Boy.)**

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Draco gasped in alarm and Hermione fell to her knees immediately, crawling underneath the table like an attractive little cockroach. Draco was left with his arms outstretched but holding nothing, arousal blaring, and expression one of utter shock and panic. Hermione whispered a concealment spell from underneath the table, and that was the end of at least one problem. To Draco's insane disbelief, another problem then manifested itself by poking its freckled face through the greenhouse doors.

"Hermione?" Ron called, peeking into the room with squinted eyes. He stopped when he saw Draco, who had somehow managed to arrange himself into a nonchalant pose: one arm leaning on the table, legs crossed like a gentleman, looking disapprovingly at his fingernails in a characteristically Draco manner (despite his dishevelled hair and unbuttoned school shirt).

"Afraid not," Draco called imperiously. "Only me, chap."

"You!" Ron seethed, face glowing red. He stomped into the green house, creating the most unholy echoing noises with his hand-me-down shoes.

"Yes, me. That's what the word 'me' generally means."

"You--" he sputtered. "You, you! You'd better stay the fuck away from my girlfriend!" Draco raised his eyebrows and turned to face him.

"Who, Lavendar? Believe me, I'll not be going near that _thing_," he taunted. "She looks rather like a retarded Raggedy Ann doll, doesn't she? I'm glad you've finally found your perfect match, anyhow."

"I--" Ron stammered, face turning even redder from embarrassment. "I was talking about Hermione!"

"Then I'm sure you meant your _ex_ girlfriend, considering that's what she is. Or perhaps you're too thick to realize that she doesn't want you."

"And when did _you _become an expert on how Hermione feels?" Ron demanded angrily. "Since when have _you _known her even half as well as I?" Draco didn't answer, only smirked and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head downwards to suggest that Ron already knew the answer. His face burned red and he crossed his arms, tapping his foot angrily. "Where is she?" Draco expertly concealed his growing sense of panic.

"I haven't the slightest," he answered, batting his eyelashes.

"Don't lie to me. Has she been in here?"

"No," Draco answered flatly. He prayed that Hermione knew some kind of full-body concealment charm, one that would effectively hide her from Ron's prying eyes.

"Then where is her bag?" Ron grinned, his malicious smile reaching both his ears. Draco made a disgusted face.

"You're really ugly when you do that."

"_Where is her bag?!_" Ron repeated angrily.

"What does it look like?" Draco offered, shrugging unattachedly. It was at this moment that Ron spotted it underneath the table. Draco's stomach flopped over and he panicked just a little when Ron started to walk over to it. Draco, thinking quickly, reached out one foot and slid the bag towards him.

"I assume that's it?" he asked. Ron glared at him angrily and opened the bag.

"All her ink and stuff's in here! You can't be kicking it around, asshole! What if it spills on all the rest of her shit?!" Draco shrugged.

"Tell me: Do I look like I care? Because I've been practicing my 'I care' face. Here, let me show you." He lifted his eyebrows halfway up his forehead and opened his eyes wide, parting his lips slightly and pressing his hand to his chest, mocking concern very effectively. Then he slid back into his unaffected scowl, eyes partially-lidded and one eyebrow cocked. "There, how was that?"

"You're a real bitch, Malfoy," Ron spat, spreading the mouth of Hermione's bag and extracting its contents. Draco watched intently, a little smirk dancing across his face.

"This should be interesting," he observed, amused. Ron glared at him. He pulled out several feather quills, a fountain pen, two plastic bottles of ink (to which Draco snickered triumphantly), a few rolls of parchment, notebooks for various classes, extra ponytail holders, paperclips, and lastly--Hermione's open-toed, four-and-a-half inch, yellow pumps. Draco made a noise like someone choking on a hot dog and lurched forward, grabbing the table in front of him for support. It was those shoes! Dear God, those shoes! He was afraid he would start salivating all over himself and so he kept his mouth closed tightly. Ron didn't notice and instead began packing up all her things into the satchel. Draco had to do something, or maybe Ron would take her bag clear across the school and Draco would have to wait another day to see them on her bloody fan-fucking-tastic legs.

"Wait!" he interjected, just as Ron was about to throw them into the bag. "Did she say she was coming to pick it up?" he inquired, knowing full well that she had.

"Why do you care?" Ron asked carefully.

"Maybe she's still on her way," Draco offered. "You should leave them here just in case."

"No, she'd have been here by now, dumbass," Ron sneered, dropping the shoes into the bag. Draco's eyes followed them and he grimaced as Ron pressed the lock.

"Well then, where is she?"

"Probably the bathroo--Look, I don't know why I'm even talking to you. I'm taking her bag and I'm going to Divination."

"I thought she had dropped out of that class," Draco said under his breath. Ron stopped at the door. "Maybe she needs it for this period. Maybe she'll be angry at you for taking it. Hah," he added, tossing his blonde hair. "I can imagine that. That would actually be quite funny."

Ron's hand rested on the doorknob, Hermione's bag balanced on one shoulder.

"She would say," and here Draco stood up straight with his shoulders back, affecting a high-pitched voice. "I hate you, Ronald! I had to chase you all around the school and missed my Ancient Runes meeting, all because you stole my bag out of the greenhouse! That's one class meeting I can never get back! I hope you're happy! No one ever takes notes in that class! The professor probably hates me! My grade'll go down to an A-! My entire GPA is fouled up now! I absolutely positively--"

"_ALL RIGHT!_" Ron screamed, whirling around to face him. "What the fuck do you suggest I do, then?"

"I'm in Ancient Runes," Draco smirked, offering his hand.

* * *

"Dear Merlin, I love those shoes so much," Draco groaned.

"You've told me that," Hermione answered, smirking to herself.

"They're probably my favorite thing on this earth," Draco groaned, licking his lips.

"I don't see what the big deal is! They're just shoes!"

"No, they're not. They're not just shoes. That's like saying your legs are _just legs_."

"Well, aren't they?" Hermione asked, slowing her pace slightly to allow Draco to catch up. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder and looked into his eyes, which was easier to do now that she was higher up. Draco gasped.

"NO. Your legs are--I don't even know." Hermione grinned. "They turn me on," he finished, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Okay, my legs turn you on. So does your own _name_," she laughed.

"No, it's not my name," Draco answered, shaking his head furiously. "It's the way you say it. And the way you only say it when there's no one else around. It makes it seem so..._dirty!_"

"Dirty?!" Hermione asked, abashed.

"Yeah! Like the word 'fuck!'"

"That's not so dirty," Hermione smirked. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"That turns me on, too!" Draco grinned.

"Oh, it does, does it?" she asked. He nodded vigorously. "Then, what about this?" She stopped in the middle of the empty hallway and, once again, Draco accidentally took a few steps too far. He turned around to face her and she stepped slowly towards him, then lifted her knee between his legs and wrapped one arm around possessively around his waist, leaning her head close to his ear and whispering, "_Fuck me, Draco_." He shivered and growled, pressing his chest against hers in delight. She laughed again. "You're so easy."

"I...I have to go to the bathroom."

* * *

Draco stepped into the classroom ten minutes after Hermione.

"Ahh, Mr. Malfoy, so kind of you to join us," Professor Babbling announced. "Let's see, you're twenty-three minutes late, so let's make that twenty-three points from Slytherin. Is that fair, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I suppose so," he grumbled reluctantly. He took his seat behind Hermione, Amber to his left. Immediately, Pansy moved from the adjoining table to sit on his right.

"Where were you?" Amber whispered angrily. Draco waved her away.

"Who is that girl?" Pansy prompted, leaning over Draco to stare at Amber, who raised her eyebrows at her, challenging her to speak.

"No one," Draco hissed, batting her hand away from his.

"Drakie-poo," Pansy murmured, running the tips of her fingers up his back.

"Pansy, I don't even fucking like you!" he whispered angrily. Amber snickered and Pansy glared at her over Draco's shoulders.

"He doesn't fucking like you either, skinny whore!" Pansy shot.

"Fat whore!" Amber shot back.

"Why does everyone keep calling me fat?" Pansy whined.

"Please don't speak," Professor Babbling called out. Pansy shut her mouth.

Throughout this whole exchange, Hermione had been crossing and uncrossing her legs underneath her desk. Presently, she lowered one stocking and released it at her ankle. She let her fingers drape over her legs and ran her hand up the calf, pausing to scratch her knee and continuing the ascent until she reached mid-thigh, where she hiked her skirt up slightly to reveal just the tiniest peek of her white cotton underpants. Draco watched her every move, and, this time, she twisted around to smile seductively over her shoulder, eliciting a little moan from him.

"What did you say, Drakie?" Pansy asked. He blushed and looked angrily at her.

"Nothing, Pansy, nothing." He glanced discreetly to his left in an attempt to gauge whether or not Amber had seen Hermione's little private show for him, but she was actually paying attention the the professor and he assumed she had noticed nothing. That was just as well, though. For the rest of the class period Draco watched Hermione cross and uncross her legs under her desk, transfixed by her sunny yellow shoes.

When the bell rang Pansy skittered off to lunch (obviously), and Amber lingered behind with Draco, lecturing him on the importance of promptness when it comes to class meetings. Hermione watched her for a moment and Draco met her eyes, but she shrugged and left after waiting a couple of minutes. Draco reached one hand out in a fruitless attempt to stop her and then his face went dark as he realized he was stuck with Amber.

"I hate you," he said suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence.

"How does that have anything to do with what I was talking about, Draco?"

"What were you talking about?"

"Muggle watches," she said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot.

"Well, there you go. I hate those too."

* * *

Draco approached the Gryffindor table with disdain, watching as William the Caveman took Hermione's fork from her and repositioned it in her left hand, helping her to scoop up a bit of macaroni and place it in her mouth. She laughed and Draco scoffed, hurrying slightly. Ronald watched the two as well, the purple vein that previously only Draco had coerced standing on end. Strangely, Draco was a little bit jealous. He felt, deep within him, that Ron's purple vein was reserved only for him. He was doubly annoyed with the fact that William the Caveman was prompting this level of anger from Hermione's stupidish ex-boyfriend. He cleared his throat when he reached the table and Hermione looked up, William's hand still encircling hers.

"Granger," he said formally, curtsying. She smiled.

"Draco." He was taken aback, certain that he had heard wrong.

"What?"

"I said, 'Draco,'" she repeated. "That's your name, isn't it?"

He beamed at her, choosing to respond, "Yes, it is. Accompany me?" He extended his hand as he had a few nights ago, and, just as before, Harry and Ron clenched their fists and pressed their fingernails into the tablecloth. Hermione looked from Draco to William and back.

"William, will you excuse me for a moment?" she appealed, batting her eyelashes. Draco rolled his eyes. It was sickening, that's what it was.

"Of course, Herms, of course," he answered gallantly.

"'_Herms_?'" Draco repeated, scoffing.

"Malfoy, please," she muttered, pushing him backwards with one hand on his chest. "Don't."

"But he called you _'Herms_!'" he answered, following her out of the Great Hall. "I mean, doesn't he at least have the balls to go with _Hermy_?" The closing doors cut the remainder of his monologue off from the amused students in the Great Hall. "Herms is probably the stupidest nickname I've ever heard, Hermione," Draco said bitterly.

"I know," she answered. "But I think it's kind of cute."

"_Cute_?!"

"I mean, he really doesn't have the balls to call me 'Hermy.' Isn't that sweet?"

"No!" Draco answered. "Pah! That's not sweet! That's...That's not having any balls!"

At this moment, William the Caveman eased open the enormous mahogany doors and stepped into the stone hallway, smiling at Hermione. "I'm sorry, Herms, but I really have to go. You see, I have Transfiguration next and--"

"I understand, William!" Hermione replied. "Perhaps I'll talk to you later."

"In the Common Room?"

"Sure."

"All right, I'll see you! Goodbye, Draco, it was nice to meet you!"

Draco opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it once more. "Yeah, well...It's always nice to meet me! I'm _Draco Fucking Malfoy!_"

* * *


	13. Thirteen: Experiments and The Other Man

**Oh ho, a secret! Exciting, isn't it? Yes, quite a shocker ;) But I figured you all would enjoy some intrigue. This is so easy, really. Don't forget to review.  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter_ is_ a beauty school dropout. But still not mine.**

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"Yes, he seems like a nice young man, I suppose," Draco replied in a monotone for the fifth time.

"He really loves house elves, too!"

"Yes, you've told me that."

"And he's a pureblood, not like that matters to me, but it's just interesting."

"What do you mean that doesn't matter to you?!" Draco demanded, turning over to face her.

"Well, it doesn't, really! I don't really care about that kind of thing."

"My purebloodedness is all part of my alluring, boyish charm," Draco whimpered. Hermione blinked her eyes at him.

"Anyways," she continued, "he lived in France for a few years, and then he came here for vacation, but he loved it so much that his parents decided to stay! Isn't that amazing?"

"Yes, it's amazing," Draco answered, reinstating his monotone.

"And I love his hair color. I mean, it's pretty much just straight black! Like ink!"

"I thought girls preferred blondes," Draco observed, propping up his head with his elbow.

"Well, not always," Hermione answered. She looked away from his relatively new clock, still hanging on the far wall, and met his eyes. "Am I going on a bit too much?" she asked.

"Not exactly," Draco replied, rolling his eyes. "Just a tad."

"I'm sorry."

"So I assume you like him now?" he urged, dreading the answer. He closed the curtains on his four-poster, folding his hands behind his head, and watched the constellations move around.

"I--I suppose, sort of." Draco didn't answer. He squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow, clenching his teeth together in anger and disappointment. "Are you angry?" came her voice after a moment of silence. He still didn't answer. "Draco?"

"Hermione, tell me what we are."

"What we..._are?_" she asked.

"Yes. I mean, are we friends?"

"Why, yes, we're friends, Draco."

"But I'm not your boyfriend."

"...No."

"But we still like to kiss and neck and do things like that."

"Yes."

"And you make me very, very horny."

"Alright."

"And we've got all this sexual tension between us."

"I'd say so."

"So, what are we, Hermione?" he asked, allowing his arms to fall over the sides of his bed. "I mean, really. What exactly does that make us?"

"I don't know, Draco."

"Are we just fuck buddies? Is that all we are?" Hermione didn't answer. Draco poked his head out from his curtains to stare at her. "You know what happens with those, right?" She shook her head. "One always gets too attached, Hermione." She sighed and looked away. "I don't want to be just fuck buddies," he muttered angrily, yanking his curtains back into place.

There was silence for a good three minutes.

Then, Draco was surprised when the curtains opened on the opposite side from where Hermione had been sitting. He didn't scoot over. She lay down next to him, watching the Seven Sisters as they drifted loftily along. Moments passed and she took his hand into her own smooth, warm grasp, squeezing it tightly and then releasing it. He breathed in her scent--vanilla and grapefruit--and tried to stay angry at her. He found it rather impossible. "I don't know what we are," she said finally.

"When the bloody hell are we going to know?"

"I don't know, Draco! Maybe never! Maybe tomorrow! But if it pleases you, I've gone further with you than I ever have with Ronald. Or William. Or Fred. Or Viktor Krum."

"Oh, Viktor Krum, I remember that," Draco laughed. "Wait, Fred who?!" Hermione was silent, and by the light of the stars Draco could see her blushing furiously. He sat up and grinned. "Fred who, Hermione?"

"No one! I didn't even say Fred!"

"I heard you say Fred!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Fred who, Hermione? Tell me or I'm telling Ronald you dated someone named Fred!"

"NO!" Hermione shrieked. "Oh, God! It was his Fred! Fred Weasley!" She covered her face with her hands and turned away from Draco, completely embarrassed. "Ohhhh Merlin," she wailed.

"There's a Fred Weasley?" Draco half-yelled, incredulous. "Jesus, how many of them _are _there?!"

"Fred Weasley is one of the twins, Draco," she sighed.

"And you dated him?!"

"I shouldn't have even said that. That's so embarra--it was a slip of the tongue. Ugh, why," she lamented, covering her face with a pillow.

"Tell me all about it!" he grinned, moving it gently out of the way.

"I didn't even really _date_ him! It was just...One summer, a long time ago, Harry and I were staying at Ron's house, and I just noticed that he was looking really...attractive."

"Go on!" Draco urged, laughing.

"No, I can't! Oh, it hurts," Hermione retorted, joining in on his mirth.

"What happened next?"

"Nothing, I just...It was so stupid, really. I just followed him a bit until George left, and I--"

"Wait a minute. You thought Fred was attractive and not George?"

"Don't ask me!" Hermione shouted, covering her face with the pillow again. Draco screamed with laughter. "Well, I waited for George to leave, and then I just kind of snuck up behind him and--"

"Aaanndd?"

"I just kissed him." She lowered the pillow halfway down her face to gauge his reaction.

"That's kind of a pathetic story. Just a kiss?" She covered her face again. "Oh _ho!_ What happened next?"

"He kissed back!" she squealed.

Draco held his ribs to keep from exploding with laughter. "That's pretty much statutory rape, isn't it?" he asked sarcastically.

"No! He was only a year older! And I started it, really!"

"Is that all that happened?"

"Well, we did it a few more times after that."

"Hermione, you are a whore," Draco said seriously, wagging his finger at her.

"I never told anyone," she answered, covering her face again.

"You filthy whore."

"You have to promise not to tell."

"Filthy, filthy, whore."

"Oh, Draco, please don't tell Ronald."

"Do you still think about it?"

"...Sometimes," Hermione answered quietly.

"So I suppose that means he was a good kisser?" Draco snickered.

"He was kind of amazing at it."

"Better than me?" he asked seriously, pouting.

"...No."

"I knew it," Draco grinned to himself. "Do you still see him?"

"Yes."

"And is it awkward?"

"...No."

"...You don't still do it, do you?" She didn't answer. "_Hermione!_" Draco shouted, ruffling her hair with one hand. "You really are a filthy whore! You've been dating Ronald for sixth months and cheating on him with his own brother this whole time!"

"I have not!" Hermione screamed. "We haven't in a really long time!"

"When was the last time you kissed him?"

"Summertime!" she answered angrily, hugging the pillow close.

"That was only months ago, Hermione," Draco reminded her, tickling her side. She tried not to laugh.

"But it was more than six!" she interjected.

"Are you going to tell me that when this summer comes, you two won't be fucking like rabbits?"

"No! Don't be ridiculous, we're both older now. More mature. I'm much too smart for that kind of--"

"Oh, that explains why he's always saying, 'Hello, there, Hermione,' with that little smirking wink of his! It's because he's thinking about you _naked_!"

"_Draco!_" Hermione wailed.

"Okay, no more," he chuckled, wrapping one arm around her and pulling her closer. "Whore."

"I am not a whore, Draco. I told you, necking with you is the furthest I've ever gone." Draco nodded in agreement. "What about you?" she asked after a long silence. "What's the farthest you've gone?" Draco felt his whole face glow red and he stammered, trying to find some way to stall or distract her.

"What?"

_Cool, Draco. Perfect distraction._

"You heard me! Answer the question, I told you a secret."

"I--I'm not a virgin, Hermione," he answered timidly. More silence.

"Oh," she said.

"But with other girls, it's different! It's like, I get a hundred times more pleasure out of kissing you for a few minutes than actually...doing it...with someone else. Do you understand?" Hermione breathed out quickly.

"I suppose so. I mean, not really, seeing as I _am_ a virgin, but I guess I can hypothesize." Draco was filled with shame. This was the first time, he realized, that he had ever been ashamed of his countless conquests.

"S-sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be sorry," she answered dismissively. "Who was your first, if you don't mind me asking?" Draco blushed again as he struggled to remember.

"I was young, Hermione," he responded.

"How young?"

"I was...thirteen," he said quietly.

"That is rather young," she answered, turning her face away from him. His whole body went hot with embarrassment.

"It was Pansy Parkinson," he remembered suddenly. "And I didn't even like her. It was just, all my other friends in Slytherin were talking about how great it was, and my father announced that some day I would probably end up marrying her, and I figured, hey, why not practice. And, plus, that girl has been coming on to me for all of my life, Hermione, and it was just easy! And she really wanted to, you have to understand."

"I understand, Draco," she answered, sliding one arm underneath his back and squeezing his side gently and comfortingly. "Do you remember your last?"

Draco's stomach jumped.

His last had been the night before. His heart beat at a million times a minute and he felt the blush of shame creeping up his neck again. He hadn't realized that fucking Amber could be considered cheating on Hermione until this very moment. His words caught in his throat and he struggled for some euphemism that he could expel in order to make the situation less than what it was, in order to make it hurt her less, in order to make him seem like less of the bad guy. He hadn't realized that his fucking Amber would be the equivalent to Hermione's fucking William. If she had ever fucked William, Draco knew he would have to beat his brains out with the closest blunt object. He wondered if Hermione would want to beat Amber's brains out with a blunt object, or if she would merely want nothing to do with him ever again. Either way, he figured he probably oughtn't risk it.

"Draco?" Hermione said again, turning to look into his face.

"No," he answered.

"No?" Hermione inquired skeptically.

"Let's change the subject," Draco said hastily, and he pressed his palm to his face to hide the redness that he could feel swallowing his body.


	14. Fourteen: Clean Underpants and Things

**Exceedingly long chapter today, chaps. Do enjoy it. Right-o.  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is for lovers, much like Virginia or Ohio. But just because it's _for _lovers doesn't mean that lovers can have it...):**

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Draco's inner turmoil filled him with remorse and dread and he sat on the edge of the bed with his head resting in his hands, peeking over his shoulder at Hermione. She was leaned over on one side, clutching the warm, empty bubble of body heat that he had left just moments before. She breathed noiselessly, her chest rising and falling like the angel that she was. The beautiful, perfect little angel. The sweet, innocent, beautiful, and perfect little angel. That he was corrupting. She sighed quietly, obviously dreaming, and he noted sardonically that her subconscious was probably entertaining her with thoughts of princesses kissing frogs in pleasant little meadows. He was probably the frog. God knows he deserved it. Merlin, it had been _right here._ Hermione was literally _lying in his infidelity_. He looked back at her beautifully content, smiling face and could have thrown up at the thought that her place had been taken the night before by that--that _monster_ of a girl. He exhaled in panic and regret and lowered his head back into his hands, pulling and twisting in shame. His hands entangled themselves in his soft, luxurious blonde hair.

"At least I still have you," he told his hair bitterly. He peeked back at Hermione once more. "But you're still not as angelic as she is," he whispered. "Look at me!" he laughed suddenly. "I'm actually going insane. I'm talking to my own hair. I belong on the streets somewhere. Or in a skeevy pub. Or on the covered stoop of a well-known local bistro. Not here." He glanced back again. "Not with her." Presently there was a knock on the door, and Draco's eyes darted from it to Hermione and back again. The knocker was persistent, however, and the knocking insistent, and he scrambled to the door to relieve the noise. He thought better of it and muttered a quick spell, causing bolts to shoot out from the tip of his wand and attach themselves to the door frame. He eased it open, allowing the bolt to catch it, and was greeted by the beautiful green eyes of that monstrous Amber girl. She threw her shoulder into the wood angrily.

"Open the door, Draco!" she screamed. He panicked as Hermione stirred slightly on the bed, and his whole being filled with fear and dread at the prospect of her suddenly awakening. He scratched at the floor for his wand and found it as she was turning over, whispering "_Muffliato_!" at exactly the right moment. He scurried over and closed the curtains around her, inwardly thanking Merlin that Snape had taught him that spell the previous year.

"Draaaakkkkiiiieeee!" He froze where he stood. There was no mistaking it, that was definitely Pansy's voice.

"What?" he hissed. Then, realizing that Hermione had just been charmed, he repeated himself more loudly. "_What?!_"

"Open this door right now, Malfoy, you have got some fucking explaining to do!" Amber screeched, banging on the door with her fists. Draco pressed his forehead to the cold stone walls and laughed to himself. He walked carefully to the door and opened one more bolt, allowing the hinges another inch of leeway so that he could see both girls at the same time. Amber was stark naked. She stood with a pillow under one arm and a blanket under the other, glaring fiercely at him with those emerald eyes and that too-big nose. Pansy, on the other hand, was dressed in a surprisingly flattering red corset and garter belts.

"Who the fuck is this?!" Amber barked.

"Drakie, what is the meaning of this?" Pansy demanded, stomping her foot in protest.

"Pansy. Meet Amber. Amber. Pansy," Draco responded tonelessly. Both girls looked at each other simultaneously and then back at him, Amber furious, Pansy on the verge of tears. "Now, both of you: Go away. I'm busy." He attempted to close the door but Amber stopped it with her bare foot, which he figured must have hurt and he winced in sympathy.

"No, you are going to let us in. I'm fucking naked, Draco."

"I noticed, Amber," he answered.

"We're going to be married," Pansy cut in, placing her hands on her hips and staring fiercely into Amber's eyes.

"No one in their right mind would ever marry you," Amber retorted, waving her hand as if waving off a child.

"Drakie is going to!"

"Are you, 'Drakie?'" Amber asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I most certainly am not," he answered expressionlessly.

"Are too! Your daddy told me so!"

"My daddy also told me he loved me. Do you believe that, too?" Draco answered, equally as expressionlessly. Pansy pursed her lips and crossed her arms, displaying ample and rather delicious cleavage that almost made Draco kind of attracted to her. Or, her boobs, that is.

"Let us in, Draco," Amber commanded, pointing her finger at her foot for emphasis.

"I'll slice your foot off in the door, Amber, get the fuck out," he continued in a monotone fashion.

"No, Drakie! Let me in! We haven't copulated in a month!"

"A month?!" Amber cried. "Hah! _We_ 'copulated' last night!"

Pansy gasped, hand on her enormous breasts, and pushed Amber lightly. "You take that back! You did not!"

"We most certainly did! Tell her, Draco!" Amber implored, pushing Pansy in return.

"I really don't like you, missy!" Pansy squawked, pushing again. Amber fell back slightly and Draco took this opportunity to slide the bolt in the door closed a little more, sticking the tip of his wand between the door and the frame. He whispered up a fluffy goose pillow and it fell onto Pansy's head. She seized it and smacked Amber in the face with it, and she retaliated by hitting Pansy about the chest and neck. Draco watched as one sexy naked redhead pummeled a voluptuous lingerie-clad brunette with a pillow, snickering to himself in mild amusement.

"Hey, girl fight!" he screamed, sticking his head out the door. Immediately, every door in the corridor opened up and boys of all shapes and sizes poked their heads into the hallway, watching the spectacle with wide and amazed eyes. Loud chattering soon accompanied Pansy and Amber's high-pitched screams, and the more daring boys stood in their doorways in pajamas or boxers, placing bets and cheering for their favorites. Draco smirked as he closed the door, muttering another spell to lock out the noise from the hallway. Hermione lay on her opposite side, still breathing deeply, her eyes fluttering as he opened the curtains and moved her bushy brown hair to one side.

He really had to change his sheets.

* * *

"Draco!" He was startled awake by hands on his bare chest, and the first thing he realized was that he hadn't remembered removing his shirt. She rubbed her baby-smooth hands over his chest, down his stomach, and attached them to his hips, pulling his pants down over his legs and tossing them onto the floor.

"Whoa, Hermione," he yawned sleepily, grinning to himself. "Good morning to you, too. Eager to see me?"

"Draco, it's seven-thirty!" she answered hopelessly.

"What?!" he yelped, sitting straight up in his bed. He was wearing loose green boxers with a little embroidered silver serpent on the side. Nice. "Oh, hey, these are my favorites. Do you like them?" he asked, flexing his muscles like a bodybuilder. She blushed, covering her eyes with one hand.

"Draco, we are going to be so late it's not even funny!"

"No, we're not!" he answered, shaking his head furiously. "It's going to be fine! This is easy. We have to be down at the Great Hall at eight, so we each get a ten-minute shower and then ten minutes to get ready!"

"I'm showering here?" Hermione squeaked, blushing again. She was so red that her face somewhat resembled a stop sign, minus the sharp corners and the giant white "STOP."

"Well, it'll take hours for you to leave and shower in your dormitory!" He threw open his drawers and extracted a uniform.

"I don't have any clean clothes!" she observed, grabbing a fluffy green towel out of his armoire.

"You can wear some of mine!" he answered, holding up a white shirt. "Of course, not the tie. That would be strange. But of course, I'll let you wear the tie some other time," he winked, "just for me, you know." She smacked his arm and threw her towel into the bathroom, picking up her yellow pumps and replacing them on his dresser. He smirked at the sight of them.

"Is it alright if I go first?" she asked.

"We can always just go together. It'll save time," he answered. She rolled her eyes and slammed the door in his face. He frowned. "I suppose that means no?"

* * *

Draco had just finished gathering all his showering things when the water went off and Hermione's wet head poked out from around the door.

"Draco, I need help," she said, a sweet little tinge of pink edging its way into her features.

"Help with what?"

"...I haven't got any underpants," she answered in a whisper. He felt his own face coloring as well, and he stammered for a moment before running over to his dresser and opening the bottommost drawer, extracting all kinds of different designer underwear. His face went hot as he muddled through, trying to find a suitable pair of boxers for a girl to wear. He was suddenly embarrassed by the fact that he didn't own any tighty-whiteys. He finally picked one: black silk boxers, a little tight (which is how some girls liked it on him), with lime green detailing on the band.

"Will these be alright?" he asked, holding them out to her. "They're--they're clean, at least," he explained bashfully.

"Yes, that's fine, thank you," she coughed, snatching them up and then closing the door again. He sighed in relief, then tensed up again as he realized that Hermione was about to put on his boxers.

When she came out a minute later, she had the fluffy green towel wrapped around her shoulders. Draco tossed a crisp white school shirt at her and she slipped it on over her head, careful not to let him see any of her body as she did so, which was moderately disappointing. When she let the towel drop she looked like a Playboy model: wet, dripping onto his carpet, face fresh and clean, wearing a too-large men's shirt and tight silk boxers that reached only a couple inches past her round little ass and exposed the two shapely and lightly tanned expanses of skin that he was so obsessed with. She bent down and slipped her yellow shoes on and he almost lost control of himself. "The bathroom's clear," she said with a little smile. "You can have your turn now." It took him a moment to understand what she was saying and she stood blinking at him, combing her hair with her fingers. "Draco, it's already seven-forty," she announced. He nodded and hopped into the bathroom, grateful that he had wrapped his towel around his waist.

Just as he turned the water off, Hermione knocked on the bathroom door. Steam spilled out as he opened it, and she blinked to get the heat out of her face. She flushed when she saw him, in silver underpants and nothing else, hair a wet and tousled mess and towel draped over his shoulders. He smirked. "What?"

"What? Oh!" she stuttered, hand touching the back of her ear delicately in embarrassment. "I--Do you have any grey socks?" she asked.

"None that'll fit you," he answered, laughing lightly. "Why don't you wear the ones from yesterday?" She winced, scrunching up her face. "Ah, right. I forgot you're Hermione and probably obsessed with cleanliness."

"Just a bit," she answered, tilting her head to one side with a matching little smirk.

"Alright, yeah," he said, opening his bottom drawer again. "Don't be peeking at my undies," he scolded, looking over his shoulder and catching her staring into the drawer. She blushed again. "Here, wear these," he said, tossing her a pair of Slytherin argyle socks.

"Draco!" she whined.

"It's these or those dirty ones!"

She put them on with no further protest. Being men's socks, they were only supposed to go up to mid-calf, but she managed to make them stretch just beyond her knees. She then tapped them with the tip of her wand and turned them mahogany instead of green.

"Well that's no fun," he pouted. "Now it's like they're not even my socks." She looked up at him and touched her ankle with the wand, producing a tiny embroidered green and silver serpent. He smiled. "That's much better," he said giddily.

"How do I look?" she asked. She twirled around in front of him. Truth be told, her socks were a little loose, her shirt was way too big, and her hair was a mess. Her skirt was a bit shorter than usual, considering the fact that it was all rumpled up from sleeping in it, but her cloak was still immaculate.

"Honestly? Like you've just had sex," Draco responded, amused. She frowned.

"I wish I knew spells to shrink clothes and things, or to iron them up," she sighed.

"There's not spells for everything, you know, Hermione," Draco answered, running his hands through his hair and using his mirror to judge his overall appearance.

"_Speculus_," Hermione said firmly, then she whimpered at the sight of her drying hair. It was bigger than it normally was, but curlier and bouncier, too. "I do hate my hair," she lamented as she tapped her face with her wand, makeup sparking out of it and attaching itself to her.

"I love it like this! Do you do things to it?" he asked her.

"I try and straighten it. It never works. So it just hangs there like a floppy mess," she answered angrily.

"Well, you should leave it all curly like that. It's beautiful, really," he affirmed, nodding to illustrate his point.

"Thanks," she answered with a little smile. "Are you finished yet?"

"For the most part, yeah," Draco answered, still fiddling with his hair in the mirror. He buttoned his shirt and slipped his pants on over them, sliding his snakeskin belt through the loops and buckling it.

"Well, you look considerably more put together than I do," Hermione huffed bitterly.

"Well you still look like you've just had sex, and that's pretty fucking hot," Draco answered. Her sock slipped down to her ankle and she bent to pick it back up. He saw his boxers underneath her little school skirt and growled again.

"What now?" she asked, twisting the sock to keep it in place.

"I can't believe you're wearing my underwear," he answered simply. She smiled, her cheeks going red.

"Neither can I."

* * *

The two walked into the Great Hall seperately, a minute and a half apart, so as to deflect any attention from themselves. No one noticed either of them coming in, however, and there were still flocks of first and second years running madly through the doors towards their tables. Hermione sighed as she sat down and Draco watched as her friends began immediately interrogating her, probably as to her whereabouts the previous evening. He snickered to himself. The two of them caught the very end of breakfast, however, and students began packing their books up at the tables and exiting in groups. Pansy attacked him from the right.

"Drakie! Why didn't you let me in last night?" she whined.

"You know what you remind me of, Pansy?" he asked. She blinked her eyes at him. "A legless, stupid, pug. I mean, your face is pretty squashed and you're kind of fat, and you've got the brown hair and everything, and you keep following me around everywhere." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "In the best way, I mean."

"Do you still love me, Drakie pie? You don't love her more than me, right?" she asked.

"Pansy, I love you about as much as I'd love to have my arms and legs chewed off by a hundred salamanders. And I love Amber about as much as I'd love to be paralyzed from the eyes down and forced to watch infomercials for the rest of my life as midgets jumped on my stomach. So, no, in a way I suppose you could say I don't love her more than you."

"You love me most?" she asked brightly.

"I don't love either of you, Pansy," he sighed, rubbing his temples.

"You love me most!" she giggled, clapping her hands together in triumph. "Oh, I knew it!" she pressed her heavily-glossed lips to his cheek and he recoiled in disgust, using the expensive Slytherin place napkin to remove the offending stain from his pale face.

"Go away," he pleaded. "Forever." She sat up brightly and kissed the tip of his nose, causing him to automatically swat her away. "Don't kiss me there!" he said.

"Alright, love," she obliged, patting her skirt down.

"And don't call me that!"

"Okay, Draco--"

"Or that!"

"Malf--"

"Or that either!"

"...Drakie-poo!"

He sighed angrily, defeated.


	15. Fifteen: Bare Hips and Red Lips

**Oh, hey, look at that, another chapter. I'll be out of town for the rest of today and tomorrow so no updates until, probably, Thursday. No promises!**

**Cheers to Ajax the Axe Murderess for the sweetest review ever! 3  
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**Disclaimer: You know by now that Harry Potter and all associated characters belong to someone else entirely.**

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Draco smiled contentedly as he listened to the Trio's worried dialogue.

"Hermione, why are you wet?" Harry asked, touching her hair with one finger.

"It's called a shower, Harry. You should try it some time."

"Why didn't you meet us at the Common Room last night?" Ron attempted.

"I had things to do."

"Whose shirt is that?" Harry posed, running his palm over it lightly.

"It's mine," Hermione answered, adjusting the sleeve Harry had just wrinkled.

"Hermione, are you lying to us?" Ron pleaded, touching her shoulder. She shook him off.

"Why would I lie to you?"

"William was waiting for you yesterday," Harry offered, once again bringing his hand up to feel her hair. Both she and Draco stopped walking, mouths open.

"Oh, I forgot!" she said quietly, rubbing her arms.

"He didn't," Ron answered bitterly, rolling his eyes. "He was waiting in that chair forever."

"Which?" she urged.

"That one by the fire that you love. You know, the big squishy one with the little red mark on the arm from when you--"

"Oh, Merlin!" she wailed, letting her head roll backwards and her eyes roll upwards. Draco's lip raised with possessiveness, and he crossed his arms as he continued walking just behind the three of them. "I forgot!"

"I'm sure he won't mind," Harry said brightly. "I mean, it's understandable I suppose. Were you doing homework?" Hermione blushed.

"Yeah," she answered quietly.

"Well he knows how serious you are about your studies. He won't mind."

"I hate that guy," Ron muttered angrily. Harry smacked him around Hermione's back. The three turned left into the Potions classroom and Draco followed sullenly behind. One great thing about this class was that William wasn't allowed in it. It was for sixth-years only. He smiled at the tiny bit of comfort he had just given himself and handed his notebook to Pansy, who pressed her lips to the cover before opening it happily and dipping her fuzzy pink quill in the inkpot. Crabbe and Goyle took their seats next to Draco, cracking their knuckles menacingly as Amber tried to squeeze in between them.

"Not her," Draco smirked, eyes closed. His minions rose and she took a step back, huffing angrily and instead choosing the seat next to Pansy, to Draco's surprise. The two whispered back and forth in hushed tones, occasionally leaning forward to steal a glance at him over Crabbe's massive shoulders.

Well, this was a surprise.

Draco tried determinedly not to let it affect him, and he cleared his throat and stared straight ahead, actually focusing on Professor Snape for once. For a moment, that is. The lesson was exceedingly boring. He yawned and glanced at the Gryffindor section of the room, eyes coming to rest on the second table directly in front of him. He had the most perfect view of Hermione's bum from this angle. He grinned sneakily to himself and proceeded to watch it, drumming his fingers on the table as he did so. Not five minutes later, he found himself temporarily unable to breathe as she shifted in her seat. She moved slowly, gripping the hem of her school skirt with her left hand, and bunched it up behind herself. Through the wooden slats of the chair he could see the exposed skin of her lower back, and she continued to raise her skirt, a little at a time, her right hand still dutifully writing down everything the professor said. He breathed hard, eyes staring intently, as she sat up a teeny bit and showed him her underpants.

Or rather, his underpants.

His own black silk underpants.

He made a noise that caused several students to turn and look back at him, including Hermione's two idiot friends. She didn't turn, however, and Draco nervously tapped his finger against his unopened inkpot. She was teasing him, that little bitch.

Forever passed with Draco transfixed by his own underwear hugging her body. She wiggled in her chair, leaned forward to write, and bent down to adjust her socks numerous times. And he caught her every single time. The bell rang and he was genuinely disappointed, watching her stand and watching his underpants disappear as the hem of her skirt fell back down to its normal position. Oh, that little bitch.

He threw his things into his bag quickly and sped off to meet her table, feeling the burning desire just to touch her at that very moment.

"Hello, Granger," he began, keeping his voice icy. She jumped.

"Oh, hello, Malfoy," she answered. She was trying not to smile. He could see it. Harry and Ron stood guardingly on either side of her, Ron clutching her shoulder a bit too tight. She shrugged it off again in annoyance. "Enjoy the lecture?" she asked, the corners of her lips twisting up discreetly. His mouth opened slightly. The brazen little thing!

"Very much so, yes," he responded coolly, running a hand through his delicious blonde hair.

"What do you want?" Harry demanded, wrapping one arm around Hermione's waist. Draco saw it and his eyes flashed for just a second, but he caught himself. Hermione blinked a few times and Draco scrambled for a lie, racking his brain for some excuse as to why he had idiotically run to her side like an eager schoolboy. Then he smirked to himself, reaching into the inside pocket of his robes, and pulled out a spotted quill.

"You left this behind," he said, extending his hands out to her and bowing like a gentleman.

"Behind where?" Harry gagged, throwing his arms out at his sides in frustration.

"Oh, well, thank you for returning it," she responded, blatantly ignoring Harry and bending to examine it closely.

"Yes, well, as we all know, I am a very thoughtful young man." He leaned lazily onto the table.

"You are--" Ron began.

"Dashingly handsome as well, yes, I know," Draco finished for him. Hermione rolled her eyes and Ron shook his head disgustedly. Harry pulled her by the waist towards the door and Ron followed closely behind.

"Oh, my bag!" she said suddenly. She rushed back to where Draco was standing, her two bumbling apes left in the doorway, and snatched up her bag, presenting the quill to Draco before pointing out the monogrammed "D.M." "Smooth," she snickered. She left it lying on the table. She lifted her bag to her shoulder and Draco took this moment to slide a thin paperback out of the side. "Hey--" she began.

"It's collateral," he answered, grinning at her.

* * *

That night, Draco entered the Great Hall and turned immediately to his right, preparing to sweep over to Hermione and her legs and woo her with his articulate and eloquent words, but he stopped after four steps as he realized her usual spot was empty. He frowned, scanning the table, and found her nowhere. Potty and Weasel were sitting across from each other, calmly chewing their food (with their mouths open like rodents, Draco noticed), and that dreadful William was a little farther down, talking to a blonde girl with her hair pulled back in a pretty sort of half-ponytail. He made his way dejectedly towards his own table, staring over his shoulder in confusion.

He was only confused for a little bit longer, however, because Hermione flew through the doors not two minutes later. His breath got stuck at the base of his neck when she turned sharply to the left, not even glancing at the Gryffindor table, and sped over to his seat. No one noticed.

"Draco Malfoy," she began simply, hands on her hips. His eyes fell over his own shirt, adorably too big for her, and he smiled.

"Hermione Granger," he returned. He leaned back against the bench. "You're late."

"I was in the bathroom. And you'll never guess what I found!" she retorted with false cheeriness. "Do you mind if I sit?" she asked, sitting.

"Er--does it matter if I mind?" he mumbled. She ignored him.

"Who was your last?" she whispered urgently. He swallowed.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know damned bloody well what I'm talking about, _Mister_ Malfoy," she countered, crossing her arms. Still no one noticed that she was sitting beside him, her maroon and gold tie clashing marvelously with his silver and green one. "And don't bother lying."

"Why?" he whispered, feeling his face go hot. In response, she untucked the bottom of her shirt (his shirt), ripping it out from the confines of her skirt, and pointed. A few inches above the hem was a startlingly red, albeit somewhat smeared, stain. She raised her eyebrows and batted her eyelashes at him.

"Explain?" she prompted.

"I--" he appealed. She flipped the bottom of the shirt up and exposed two more kiss prints, one at the very bottom, the other between two of the smooth white buttons. He stopped trying to cleanse himself of the situation and instead smiled shakily. "I'd rather not," he answered. Her face contorted into one of rage and she clenched her teeth, shoving his shirt back into the elastic of her skirt.

"Bloody fantastic," she hissed. "That's just bloody fucking fantastic."

Draco felt a queer compression of his throat, his head swam, and his body alerted his brain with an intense desire to throw up immediately. He attempted to stop her angry stuffing of her clothes back into their proper place, and he held out one dizzy hand. "Hermione--"

"Ms. Granger," she corrected.

"--don't be like this," he pleaded. "Don't be angry with me!"

"Draco, you've had sex! And you won't even tell me who with!" she whispered furiously.

"Now, Hermione--"

"Ms. Granger!"

"--what are you doing?" he asked suddenly. She had leaned over, hiding her entire lower body underneath the table, and shoved her hands underneath her skirt. His pulse raced. She didn't answer, merely continued what she was doing, and he stammered in awe and disbelief.

"Here," she muttered angrily, shoving his own boxers into his outstretched hand.

He could have died.

He found himself grinning uncontrollably, his smile cracking his face in two, stretching his features almost beyond recognition. She had been wearing these all day. She had just taken them off. She had given them to him. Without washing them first.

It was delightfully and deliciously dirty.

"Hermione," he tried again, trying to look sad for her sake.

"Oh, Malfoy, you're impossible," she spat, scooting the bench out and swinging her legs over the side.

"Hermione, why are you so ticked?" he called to her, thinking quickly. She stopped and turned back towards him. "Do calm down. It's not like I'm your _boyfriend_, isn't that right?"

She turned bright red, her mouth forming a little "O," her hair puffing up as she involuntarily bounced in embarrassment. "No, I suppose not," she answered. "Then--then shag whoever you bloody well please, Malfoy," she finished, turning on her heel and exposing her little bare round bottom before stomping off in a huff.

To his chagrin, a few Slytherins had caught the heated end of their converation and were now staring at him with shock resonating throughout their faces. "So take a sodding picture!" he yelled. Luckily, they were all underclassmen and probably had no idea who Hermione was.

He heard Blaise Zabini's booming laugh and glared fiercely down the table. "I really don't like you!"

. to Ches


	16. Sixteen: The Library and The Great Hall

**It's Thursday, and this is the sixteenth chapter. I'm hoping for there to be only twenty, because that would make me happy since it's a multiple of ten. So be prepared for denouement! It is impending. Sorry that this chapter contains, like, 500 scene changes.**

**Review as usual, ducky.  
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**Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me except this computer.**

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Draco lay with his feet propped up against the stone wall of his bedroom, seething. He lay with his arms spread out to both sides of his chest, glowering at the ceiling as if it were the source of all his consternation, seething. _Pah._ He turned to examine every crack and groove in his uncarpeted stone floors, tracing his finger along the outlines of the rough rock, seething. He flipped and stared at his clock.

1:13.

There had been no knocks at his bedroom door tonight, at least. He found that particularly pleasing. Perhaps that horribly deformed Pansy and her new big-nostriled best friend Amber were plotting some devious plot to turn him into an abnormally large-nosed pig so that they could taunt him with the same insults he used to taunt them. He wouldn't be surprised. He sighed, seething still, and turned onto his stomach, continuing his examination of the floor. For the past three days that wretched William had been doing all he could to woo Hermione straight out from under Draco's nose.

Not that she was Draco's girlfriend, or anything.

I mean, she was still a filthy, vile, repulsive Mudblood.

The tightness of her ass had no influence on that.

Draco groaned and curled into a ball at the memory of her ass, inadvertently scraping his knees against his bedroom floor as he did so. This simply would not do. He gave a shuddering sigh as he propped himself up onto his elbows, pushing himself off the floor with deliberate slowness. His hands curled into fists as he recalled the way William the Wanker had purposely chosen a seat next to Hermione at breakfast that morning, how Draco had known he was attempting to work up the courage to take hold of her hand, how he had held his hand out and left it lingering on top of hers and then pretended to be reaching for the salt, coughing as he grabbed it and then lamely moved it to the left of his plate full of syrup-drenched waffles. What the fuck do you need salt for when you're having waffles? Draco had nearly vomited at the patheticness of it all, but she had simply smiled a knowing little smile and continued on with her French toast. She had eaten French toast with him that day at the Slytherin table.

With a jolt Draco realized he had been squeezing his own hands so tightly that they had made marks in his palms, and he rubbed impatiently at them, noting the fact that his knuckles were white and sore.

This simply would not do.

He needed relief.

* * *

Draco cleared his throat loudly, fist suspended in the air. He shook his head and lowered it, then raised it to the door again. He snorted a little, scratched at the back of his neck, and lowered his hand.

_This is bloody fucking ridiculous_, he thought, throwing his arms out as he began to pace a two-foot radius on the carpet. It was so green in this lighting that it actually looked black. He pressed his fist to the door and then retracted it, then immediately understood that he hadn't actually made any noise. He breathed out hard and rapped his knuckles smartly on the wood.

The doorknob began to jiggle and his breath caught in his throat. He actually hadn't expected that.

"Hello?" Amber poked her head out of the door and blinked. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Draco willed himself not to breathe.

"Hello?" Amber called again. There was a slight pause before she snorted and slammed her door shut, and Draco allowed himself a quick little relieved wheeze. He waited a minute longer, pressing his entire body against the door of some unsuspecting fourth-year, fully concealed from Amber's line of vision. Fuck that shit, it wasn't worth it. Amber was scary.

* * *

The echoing of his own footsteps was starting to invoke the tiniest flit of fear in him, and he quickened his pace while at the same time lightening his steps. He reached his haven just in time, just as he was beginning to feel convinced that he had driven himself mad by thinking his footfalls were coming from someone else's feet. He laughed nervously to himself, a laugh without humor, and turned completely around like a poufy ballerina (berating himself as he did so), just in case. There was no sign of anyone else so, satisfied, he cleared his throat and entered the library, clutching his wand inside his robes.

It was deserted. Well, honestly, that was no surprise, considering curfew routinely fell at around eleven o' clock. He glanced around again before retreating to a far corner, seating himself at an unassuming mahogany table with a matchingly unassuming mahogany chair. Nervously he grabbed for any book whatsoever without even so much as a peek at the title. He ended up picking out some poncey volume about unicorns.

He scoffed and tried again, extracting one about the history of purebloods, which pleased him. He smirked to himself and opened it, eager to finally be away from the strangling reality that was Hermione Granger and all Associated Drama. Surely, some might say he had gone to the library in search of the bushy-haired ball of insults, and some might say that he sat there between the hours of two and four waiting for her, and some might even say that he was harshly disappointed when she didn't show up. But of course he was none of those things.

Calmly he stood, leaving his unread book on the table to make more work for Madame Pince, who he so despised, and scowled at the entire empty room before throwing his shoulders back haughtily and contorting his face into one of cool indifference. He tilted his chin slightly and exited the library with a mindful swagger, his insides dissolving into a screaming puddle at the idea that Hermione Granger, show-off extraordinaire, though unhealthily obsessed with her studies and books of all sorts, hadn't been in the library at the same time as him for once. He swept the screaming voice to the back of his mind, his cocky smile faltering just a tad, and took his first steps out into the corridor.

Unfortunately, his first steps just so happened to collide with someone else's.

"Watch where you're going!" he spat automatically.

"No, _you _watch where I'm going!" she spat back automatically, toppling back onto her ass and sending a mountain of parchment and textbooks flying around the two of them. She patted her skirt angrily and Draco swore he felt his heart stop beating for a moment. There was silence as she refused to look at him and he did nothing but.

"Sorry," was the first thing he said, and it came out of his mouth rushed and in one syllable, as when someone asks a question you're not paying attention to and you answer it a full three minutes afterwards. "I didn't--I mean--Well," he finished lamely, bending and scooting closer to her, snatching up books in the process.

"Apology accepted," she answered emotionlessly. His eyebrows furrowed. This may be a problem.

"Tell me, Granger," he began.

"What, no Mudblood today?" she laughed cruelly. He interrupted.

"What are you doing in the library at four in the morning?" He paired his question with a wolfish grin. She blinked disbelievingly and stared right into his eyes.

"I am Hermione Jane Granger. I am in the library every single spare moment of my day. I need no reason. Now, you, on the other hand," she prompted, leaving the question open-ended.

"I was reading up on my own history," he said nonchalantly, waving a hand at the book of purebloods still on the table somewhere behind them.

"I see," she said coldly, stacking her books in her arms. "And I suppose you're finished, so good day."

"No, I'm not finished, actually," Draco lied quickly, shocking himself. She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I was only stepping out to get a drink of water."

"_Aguamenti_," Hermione answered without skipping a beat, sending a jet of water squirting out at his face. He sputtered.

"Oh, thanks, bloody heaving imbecile, that really did a lot to help--"

"Don't call me a bloody heaving imbecile, you insufferably idiotic toad!"

"Don't call me a toad, you retarded half-monkey slug!"

"Don't call me a slug, you St. Mungo's unsolvable--"

"I'll call you whatever I damned well please!" Draco roared back, hands clenched. She sneered at him. Of all the goddamned audacity, she _sneered_ at him!

"You will not," she hissed, pressing a finger to his chest and sending delightful chills up his backbone. "You will call me Hermione Granger and show me the respect I deserve." She swivelled away from him and flounced into the library, leaving him with a sopping wet mop of hair and an alarmed expression. He trailed after her and she expelled her breath in one shot, as she did often.

"It sounded like you just asked me to call you by your first name, Granger!" he observed, trying desperately to keep the hope from his voice. She rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, I'd prefer 'Mudblood,'" she muttered angrily, flipping open the cover of her first book. He grabbed another book on purebloods from the shelf behind her and sat himself down. "What are you doing?" she asked exasperatedly, her head rolling onto her open palm.

"Shh," Draco answered, holding one finger out in a studious manner. "I'm being studious." She sighed and slammed her book shut, picking it up and moving it to a table very far away from him. After a moment he stood up and followed her, his head still buried in the book he had no interest in reading. She, seeing him coming, made an exasperated grunt and dragged her book to the opposite side of the library. Draco followed obediently. This went on for a good five minutes before she simply plopped her book down in the back of the library and sat on the floor next to it, pulling it up to her nose and effectively shutting him out of her line of vision.

Draco sat at the table on the opposite side for a few seconds, making sure to give her hope, until he caught her glancing up at him from over the top of her book. He sped over and sat next to her and she fell back against the wall, obviously determined not to let him get to her. He edged himself so that he was nearly touching her shoulder, thumbing the cover of his excessively pretentious book lightly, licking his fingers before turning each page he hadn't actually read. Hermione refused to look up and instead breathed heavily into her textbook, her eyebrows tilted down in an unmistakable expression of fury.

* * *

He heard his stomach growl almost before it even happened. Then he heard hers again and he smirked into his book. Through his immaculate peripheral vision he saw her chance a furtive glance at him before staring down into the text.

They were engaged in a battle of will power.

"Hungry, Granger?" he asked unaffectedly.

"Why, no, Malfoy. And you?" He shook his head, his lips curling into a bemused little half-frown.

"Can't say that I am, no." His stomach protested and he winced in pain, turning it into a little cough to save face. "Are you sure you're not hungry?"

She laughed bitterly. "I already told you I'm not."

He changed his strategy. "I could really go for some bacon right now," he mused. She widened her eyes at her book. "Maybe some sausage. Scrambled eggs." He waited for a reaction. "_French toast._"

"Malfoy," she said instantaneously, her words lined with ice. "I've finished studying." She closed her book, though he knew she hadn't done any studying at all while he had been sitting next to her. He grinned and left his book on the floor. She threw her shoulders back in her overly confident way and stomped to the table with purpose, scrambling up all her things and piling them into her arms so that they almost blocked her eyes. It was then that she noticed him right behind her. "Leave me alone," she said simply.

He followed anyways. "I'm rather hungry, actually," he admitted, patting his stomach. "I think I'll go down to the Great Hall for some breakfast." Her steps slowed just a bit and he caught up easily, matching her strides with his own. Her eyes set and he saw her scowl as she turned a sharp right and began her descent. "Oh, are you hungry, too?" he snickered, feigning surprise.

"Shut it," she commanded through gritted teeth. He smirked.

He entered the Great Hall just behind her and was genuinely confused at the ceiling, still very dark blue and studded with stars. He gauged that it wasn't even 5:30 yet. A smattering of students littered the Hall, none of any importance, and Hermione turned instantly towards her own table. Draco saw, however, that she peeked over her shoulder to see if he was following. He was. She groaned and took a seat at the very opposite end of the Gryffindor table, forcing him to walk much too far in order to keep her company. He watched in amusement as she heaped her plate with bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, and French toast.


	17. Seventeen: Viktor and the Vanishing Step

**My computer! It is back! Are you all happy for me? I thought so. I apologize again for the long wait, but hey! Here is a long chapter to make up for it. Do enjoy. Don't forget to review.**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Richard Simmons.  
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Draco peered up at the ceiling, now fading delicately from the blackest of blacks into the bluest of blues. Hermione's face was parallel with the table in her determination not to make eye contact, and his forkful of egg stayed poised at his lips as he smiled deviously at her endearingly unmanageable nest of hair. She ran her fingers through her fringe and cleared her throat, taking a strangely parallel sip from her goblet of pumpkin juice.

"Hermione," he attempted.

"Granger," she corrected immediately.

"...Granger," he began again. He found himself struggling for something else to say and instead allowed his mouth to hang open as if petrified.

"Well?" she urged, tilting her head to one side and glaring up at him through an eye veiled by hair. He closed his mouth, suddenly aware of how silly he looked at that moment, and grinned.

"I'm not sure," he answered. She scoffed.

"Snivelling prat," she murmured to herself, the insults spilling easily from her throat as she attacked her sausage with her fork and knife. Draco automatically reached for the ketchup and held it out to her. She glanced from his outstretched hand to his raised eyebrow and back before an unmistakable blush distorted her features, much to Draco's delight. He tried to keep the smirk off his face as she stared down the table, obviously looking for another bottle of ketchup, before simply snatching it from him with an angry expression and assaulting the lid with too-dainty fingers.

"Hermione," he snickered after a moment. He held his hand out to her again.

"I've got it, Malfoy!" she shot impatiently, swatting his hand away before grabbing hold of the top and twisting it the other way. When that failed to work, she positioned the bottle between her ribs and her upper arm and used the opposing hand to turn the cap, inadvertently turning the entire bottle with it. She grunted in frustration and slammed it onto the table, gripping the tablecloth with both hands in fury before coming to her senses. She coughed embarrassedly and touched the tip of her wand to the tip of the bottle, accidentally launching the top across the Great Hall in her vehemency. Draco followed it all the way to the Ravenclaw table with his eyes before facing her again. She was dumping mountains of ketchup all over everything, in her habitual manner. He shook his head slightly in amused acceptance. When she had finished with it, she held it out for him to take and he stared at her hand, noncomprehending, before realizing her gesture. He realized a tad too late however, for she sighed and dropped it onto the table just as he made a move to grab it from her, prompting a sadistic little smile from her.

"Read any good books lately?" he asked nonchalantly, tapping the side of the ketchup bottle with his wand. A tiny stream of condiment spilled into a neat pile next to his potatoes.

"Banged any good whores lately?" she answered, mouth full.

"Ouch, Granger," he frowned, stirring the ketchup around with the tip of his wand. She noticed and made a face, obviously bothered by the filthiness of his actions. He cocked an eyebrow and brought it to his mouth, darting his tongue out to meet the ketchup and then licking his lips with a smirk. Her face colored and she scrunched up her nose before bringing her attention back to her ketchup-covered breakfast.

"I'll take that as a yes," she muttered, stabbing a bit of scrambled egg and twisting her fork to impale it fully.

"I suppose you'd be surprised to hear that I've been completely chaste over the past few days," he told her honestly, eyes half-lidded. She shook her head.

"That doesn't concern me," she answered icily. "But I suppose you'd consider that a great accomplishment, considering the rate at which you've been screwing through the school." He opened his mouth to retort but she continued over him. "Ever fucked a teacher, Malfoy? Maybe that explains all those Outstandings on your O.W.L's last year?"

"Don't you think that's a bit uncalled for, Hermione?"

"Granger," she corrected again. He rolled his eyes.

"What do you want from me, a list?" he asked, half-serious and half-mocking. "I'll make you a list. Starting with Pansy. Is that what you'd like?"

"I wouldn't 'like' anything from you, Malfoy!" she answered, raising her voice and meeting his eyes. He sneered.

"What about your novel?"

He watched as her eyes went from violent to confused, and then finally to panicked. "My novel?"

"Yes, your novel. The romance novel."

"Have you read it, you nosy little weasel?" she asked, turning red as she lowered her voice to a whisper. He was slightly alarmed at her reaction and blinked a few times.

"Why, no," he answered honestly. "Should I have?"

"No, no!" Hermione whispered furiously, dropping her fork onto her plate. "I, erm...need that back," she said embarrassedly. He grinned.

"What would you be willing to do for it?" Her eyes narrowed.

"Are you blackmailing me?" She raised her lip like an angry dog and he smirked, amused.

"I must admit, Granger, I'm quite surprised at the seriousness with which you are addressing this situation. What exactly is _in _that little book of yours? Pornography, perhaps?"

"No!" she hissed. He batted his eyelashes at her.

"I'll return your book, Hermione," he said. She stared skeptically at him, waiting.

"If?"

"You really are quite clever," he announced after a moment. "I'll return your book--if you spend the day with me." She responded by letting out a disgusted huff of breath and he ignored it, trying not to be offended.

"No," she said simply.

"Fine," Draco answered. He took a sip of his apple juice and batted his eyelashes. "It's mine, then. And you can be sure that the first thing I'll do when I get back to my room is to open that book right up and--"

"Alright, alright!" Hermione interrupted, hushing him with a hand to his mouth. He smiled into her palm at the pleasantness of making contact with her skin, even if it was just her fingers pressed to his lips. "Let's go," she muttered, pushing the bench out from behind herself. He raised his eyebrows again.

"Already? A bit eager, are you?" he smirked. "You haven't even finished your breakfast." She turned back to him, features turning cold, then leaned down until she was about four inches from his face.

"I've lost my appetite," she spat.

* * *

"Don't be scared, kitten," Draco said coolly as the door mysteriously appeared from an otherwise blank stone wall.

"Don't be balmy, ferret," Hermione answered.

"Slytherins won't hurt you," Draco continued, ignoring her. "At least...not while they're asleep." He snickered to himself and held the door open for her to enter. She glared at him as she snaked past, forced to press her body against his as she turned sideways to enter in through the narrow wooden arch.

"I've been in here many times, Malfoy," she reminded him.

"Oh, yes, I know," Draco nodded, "but one day I'll bring you here when the Common Room is full, and then we'll see just how Gryffindor-brave you really are." She rolled her eyes.

"Just go," she sighed, crossing her arms as he crossed the threshold and descended the steps into the Slytherin dormitories. She followed obediently after him and when he stopped her halfway down the stairs, she looked at him inquisitively, eyebrow raised and head cocked to one side.

"Vanishing step," he answered simply, extending his hand out for her to take. She scoffed.

"I've never encountered any 'vanishing steps' on my way to your room before, Malfoy," she needled, moving around his hand. She shrieked when the stone gave way underneath her foot, trapping her leg up to the knee. Draco laughed as she grunted and wiggled herself this way and that, attempting to break loose of the staircase.

"Trust me," he smirked, taking her hand in his. She sneered.

"Give me one good reason."

He sighed in annoyance and tapped his wand against her thigh, making sure to drag it upwards just a tiny bit. She shivered (to his delight), and yanked her leg out from between the stones. "Now do as I say. This is my territory." She scoffed again but didn't withdraw her hand, instead allowing him to lead her through one or two other very Slytherin traps before they reached his door. He waggled his eyebrows at her before twisting the knob and she bared her teeth at him.

"My book, Malfoy," she commanded immediately, extending her hand towards him. She was determined to stay in the doorway, making it easy for him to scuttle around his four-poster, grab the pair of black silk boxers on his bedspread, and toss them underneath the bed and out of sight. Well, he wasn't about to let her see them. She cleared her throat impatiently and he bent down over his trunk, positioning his winningly attractive bum so that it faced her, and rifled through the contents. She sighed loudly until he extracted her novel, holding it out to her in triumph. She smiled when she saw it and reached out to take it, but he grabbed her wrist and lifted his arm high above her head. "Oh, you are so childish!" she yelled, stomping her foot. He laughed.

"If you want your book back," he said slowly, "you're going to have to spend the day with me."

"Yes, I remember that," Hermione answered, placing her hands on her hips. "Give it to me!" He pursed his lips in thought and then grinned wolfishly at her as he pulled his wand out from the pocket of his striped pajama pants. He tapped it three times on the cover of her book, shrinking it to the size of his thumb. She gasped and reached out for it again, standing on tiptoe and pressing herself against his chest for better access. He brought it down and tucked it away into the waistband of his pants and she grit her teeth.

"You'll get it when I feel you've earned it," he snickered. He watched as she held out her hands, clearly thinking about simply grabbing the tiny book out from the top of his pajamas, but she bit her lip as she realized how close it was to his pelvis. He grinned and pressed out towards her.

"By all means," he smirked, making a circle with his hips. She glared at him.

* * *

Draco changed unabashedly in front of her, smiling as he pooled his pajamas around his ankles. He made eye contact as his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers, and she made a face and turned away from him, making an angry little noise in her throat. He laughed and hopped behind the curtains of his bed. (Let the record show that even Draco Malfoy possesses _some _modesty.) "It's safe now, I'm decent," he assured her, stepping back into her line of vision. She turned back towards him and made another angry noise when he took hold of the hem of his tight white shirt, winking at her and yanking it over his head in one fluid movement. He peeked underneath the material at her and was surprised to see her looking back at him fiercely, arms crossed over her chest. He leered at her and crossed to his dresser, choosing to replace his white shirt with one of the black tank tops he knew girls loved. He glanced over to gauge her reaction. She seemed unimpressed.

"You know, Hermione," he said, smoothing the shirt down over his checkered silver and green boxers, "we could just spend all day in here." He finished with a grin in her direction and she let out one loud bark of laughter.

"Put your pants on, Malfoy," she warned. He shrugged and threw open his armoire.

"Care to pick for me?" She frowned, caught off guard, and glanced in at the multifarious pairs of pants hanging neatly on polished oak hangers.

"...Grey," she muttered after a moment. He smirked and yanked at the light grey skinny jeans until they came off in his hand, then closed the doors and muttered a spell before opening them again.

"Sweater?" he prompted. She sighed and peered in.

"Whatever," she said impatiently, and he chose a cozy black one with a scooping neck. He thought it showed off the muscles in his chest just fine, thank you very much. He slipped on a pair of converse sneakers and ran his fingers through his hair, then turned twice in front of her.

"Final verdict?"

She grunted in response, averting her eyes. He frowned when he assessed her appearance. Her fluffy brown curls were pulled back into a loose ponytail, fringe spilling into her eyes and tiny ringlets framing her face. She was wearing pajamas--dark cotton pants that practically swam on her, and a too-large golden Chudley Cannons sweater with black trim about the neckline, which came about six inches past the base of her neck and fell over one shoulder in the cutest way.

"Chudley Cannons?" he laughed. "That rubbish team? I'd expect you to have better taste, Hermione, especially after dating Viktor Krum. What, the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team isn't your--"

"It's Ron's," she shot back, tilting her head to one side with a smile.

"Ron's?" Draco sputtered.

"Ron Weasley's, yes," she nodded. "And the pants might be Harry's, I'm not sure."

"What do you mean _might be_?" he asked, trying to keep the bite out of his voice.

"I've had them since last summer. They either belong to Harry or one of the Weasley boys." Draco made a face.

"You deserve better than Weasley castoffs," he mused. "I wouldn't give them to a homeless dog." Hermione shrugged.

"Jealous?"

Draco laughed a little too loudly. "Only on Planet No Fucking Way."

"Clever," she said tonelessly. "Do you want me to change, as well?" she asked, lifting her arms and allowing the patched sleeves to drape down towards her hips.

"I wouldn't force you upon the public like this, Hermione," he answered. "I'm a jerk, but I'm not a _monster_."


	18. Eighteen: The Tower and its Inhabitants

**Chapter eighteen is finally here! I'll bet you are excited. Going for 25 chapters now, what do you all think? Too much? I'm not sure if I can unwind everything in just two chapters, you see.**

**Review for me, please! (:  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter lives in your soul.  
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Hermione pressed a finger to his chest, causing his eyebrows to shoot up like fireworks.

"Here, Hermione? Someone might see," he winked, gesturing over his shoulder to the staircases just behind him. She retracted her hand so quickly he was surprised she didn't get whiplash.

"Stay here," she commanded. He frowned.

"Well, that's not very fair. I let you see _my_ Common Room."

"Imagine if a Gryffindor saw you in the tower, Malfoy. All the curses you'd get thrown at you? I thought surely you'd know by now that Gryffindors are especially good at cursing."

"Oh ho," Draco leered, leaning in close to her. "Worried about me, Granger?" She made a face and leaned backwards so that her ponytail was touching the painting behind her.

"You wish," she retorted, pressing her shoulders backwards to get farther away from him.

"I can take care of myself," he said simply. "I'd like to see the Gryffindor Common Room. Are there unicorns? And enchanted rainbows? Flower-tossing midgets, perhaps?"

"Don't come whining to me if you get your balls hexed off," she muttered, rolling her eyes. He watched closely as she stepped in front of the portrait, squaring her shoulers like a little soldier. She turned sharply to face him. "Well?!"

"Well, what?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Turn away!" she yelled. Now he rolled his eyes.

"Because I just _live_ to learn all of Hogwarts' passwords." Nevertheless, he turned his back towards her and allowed her to whisper the secret word to the picture of the morbidly obese woman in a pink circus tent of a dress.

"Alright," Hermione said, her voice laced with disdain. "Come on then, Malfoy." He faced her with a grin and jumped towards her. With her holding the portrait above her head for him to pass, he stopped in the narrow entrance and smirked at her, enjoying the proximity of their bodies almost as much as he enjoyed how uncomfortable it made her. It was a good fifteen seconds of smirking and glaring before she raised her left leg, the one on the outside of the archway, and kneed him hard in the ass. Draco, surprised, made a noise like a cat with a stepped-on tail.

"Someone might see!" he repeated, rubbing at the seat of his pants as he stepped into the round chamber. He sneered. It was so very Gryffindor in here. There were red and gold tapestries everywhere, squishy-looking poncey armchairs, enormous and pretentious fireplaces, oak tables covered in books and parchment (probably Hermione's, he noted), and two pristine spiral staircases leading in opposite directions up into the tower. He stared into the clock in the far corner. Roman numerals. He hated those. After a moment he declared, "It's almost seven. Your housemates will be waking up soon."

"It's Saturday," she responded, passing him and heading for the staircase on his right. "No one's ever awake until at least eight-thirty on Saturdays." He followed after her, being sure to stay a few steps behind just in case of any Vanishing Steps, seeing as Hermione wasn't very good at picking those out. He was mildly confused when she continued up the staircase past the first corridor, but he soon realized that there were multiple corridors continuing up the staircase, each leading to a different dormitory. Hermione's was one of the last, to his dismay. When they reached her door, at the end of the corridor, Hermione faced him again.

"Stay. Here," she said, poking him in the chest for emphasis. He raised an eyebrow.

"What, you're afraid I'm going to come in and throw your clothes around the room?"

"Unlike you, Malfoy, I haven't kicked my roommates out of my dormitory." She leaned backwards against the door, crossing her arms over her chest and smiling up at him in the way that meant she was about to insult him. She continued: "Because I rather enjoy their company, and because I'm quite sure they won't appreciate me escorting a grandiloquent, ignorant, annoying, idiotic, and useless Slytherin like you into their sleeping chambers at seven o' clock in the morning, you _stay here._ Understood?"

"Sure that's the only reason?" he asked, skating over her insults like an expert. She cocked an interrogating eyebrow. "You're not afraid I'll toss your clothes around your room, or throw ink onto your textbooks, or maybe nick your knickers?" He finished with a smirk and she made another face at him, her shoulders shooting up towards her ears.

"You're insufferable," she shot, snaking her hand behind her back to twist the knob. He shrugged.

"So I've been told."

She slammed the door in his face so fast that for a moment he wasn't sure what had happened. Then he yelled through the door, "I'd do it, you know!" When there was no answer he added, "Steal your undies, I mean!"

* * *

Draco was sitting motionless with his back against the door, positive he had been waiting over thirty hours, when he heard footsteps in the stairwell. Slightly panicked, he leapt to his feet and yanked his wand out of his jeans pocket, bracing himself for one of the curses that those damned Gryffindors were constantly adminstering him. After a moment the steps stopped and, still wary, he knocked against Hermione's door with his foot.

"Herms," he called. When she didn't answer he repeated himself, louder this time. Her voice came through the door in a whisper.

"Do be quiet, my roommates are asleep," she said, clearly irked.

"Someone's out here," he answered urgently. He heard her laugh and frowned.

"That's funny. Clever. Do you think I'm stupid?"

"Hermione, I'm telling the truth!" he whispered back, knocking again. "Let me in, I don't want to meet any Gryffindors out here."

"Scared, Malfoy?" she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Never."

She didn't speak again so he continued knocking quietly until he heard the footsteps start up again.

"Bloody fucking shit," he muttered to himself, facing the end of the hallway, wand at the ready. A figure passed the entrance to the corridor and Draco caught a glimpse of very red hair. His first instinct was to be angry and defensive, knowing through intuition that red hair meant Ronald Weasley. Possibly coming to see Hermione. He opened his mouth to hex the boy, but he kept walking past Draco's current hiding spot. Draco sighed and lowered his arm, relieved. A few seconds later, however, the wizard whom he had assumed was Ron doubled back and stuck his head into the hallway, proving himself to be none other than (the female) Ginny Weasley. Shock compelled him to take a step backwards, surprise distorting his face and keeping him from raising his wand again. Fury flashed through her features, turning her cheeks a pale scarlet, as she realized who he was.

"Oy, Malfoy!" she yelled, stomping towards him. He pointed his wand at her, though he was now unsure what to do. He didn't want to hex a girl in pajamas, it just didn't seem right. He noticed, however, that her purple pajama pants hugged her lower half beautifully and her close-fitting sleeping shirt displayed quite a bit of freckled cleavage. Even without the pin-straight red hair billowing behind her as she stormed his way, she looked positively modelesque. Her loud screeching brought him away from his observations just in time.

"Now, hold on," he attempted, taking another step back.

"What the _fuck _are you doing in Gryffindor tower? In the _Girls' Dormitory_, no less?" she screamed, tossing her head from side to side like an angry dragon.

"I'll tell you as soon as you--"

"If I had my wand, Malfoy, I'd hex your dick off!"

"Well, that's ironic, I was told just this morning that--"

"Get out!" she roared, raising her hand in preparation to bring it down across his face. He used his arms to cover his head and ducked around her expertly, attempting to calm her down enough to reason with her.

"Weasel--er, Weasley," he yelled. "I'm only here because--"

"Where did you get the password?" she demanded, swinging her arm towards him again.

"Stop! Stop!" he tried, dodging her twice more.

"Get _OUT_!"

Alarmed, frenzied, and slightly afraid for his life (or at least for his future heirs), Draco acted on impulse and pointed his wand directly at her face. "Petrificus Totalus!" he shouted. She dropped to the floor instantly and he cringed with the sudden realization of what he'd just done. He stepped gingerly around her and banged twice on the door.

"Hermione!" he yelled. "Don't tell me you didn't hear any of that, you asshole!" A few seconds passed and she opened the door clad in a charming long sleeved v-neck and--to his surprise--a simple black skirt that rose a few inches above her knee. Her gaze fell from Draco, to Ginny lying motionless on the floor, and back to Draco. Then she narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, very mature, Malfoy. Hex them before they hex you, eh?"

"She didn't even have her wand!" he yelled. "Oh. Wait, that's not what I meant."

"She didn't have her wand?! What kind of slimy opportunist jerk are you?"

"She was coming at me with her fists! She was intent on killing me!"

"Shit," Hermione muttered, stepping over Ginny. "I hope she's not _dead_." With the last word she glared at him with as much ferocity as one can transmit in a glare, and his lip raised automatically.

"She isn't dead, say the counterspell," he sighed.

"Oh, no," Hermione responded, extracting her wand from the knot in her ponytail. "I don't want to have to answer any questions," she finished grimly, tapping the base of her wand into her palm. She thought for a moment, fist poised at her chin, and then turned back to him. "Go to the stairway," she told him. He paused to question her, then thought better of it and made his way to the end of the hall. He watched as she knelt down beside her friend and then jogged to meet him. "Finite!" she recited, the silver lightning soaring down and hitting Ginny square in the chest. Then she pushed on the small of Draco's back, propelling him forward and down the steps. "Go faster!" she yelled. He obeyed and sprinted to the Common Room.

"Hey!" came Ginny's voice from the top of the stairs. "What the hell is going on?!" He heard the slap of bare feet on cold stone and Hermione pushed him again.

"Go!" she screamed, shoving him out the portrait hole. As soon as they were clear of the Gryffindor tower, he slowed to a halt. Hermione whizzed past him, tugging his sleeve as she did so. "What's wrong with you? Run!" He matched her strides and caught up, descending staircase after staircase until his sneakers reached the marble of the first floor. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath, while Hermione glanced nervously toward the area they had just come from.

"What time is it?" she asked suddenly. He threw himself onto the bottom step, conjuring up a little watch in midair.

"Half past," he panted, rubbing at his temple with one hand. She sat next to him.

"They'll be coming down for breakfast," she observed apprehensively. He turned to look at her.

"Who?"

"Everyone."

"You mean your friends?"

"...Well, them and--"

"William?"

"--everyone else," Hermione corrected sourly. He allowed his eyes to trace the atrium, coming to rest on the doors of the Great Hall.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"No," she responded coolly.

"Good," he grinned, getting to his feet. She looked warily up at him from beneath her fringe, hands clasped reluctantly in her lap. He extended his hand for her and was somewhat surprised when she took it, allowing him to help her up. He gave it a squeeze and she let go immediately, crossing her arms for the hundredth time that morning. "Accompany me?" he asked casually, bowing and gesturing for her to pass him.

"Where?" she inquired suspiciously, taking a tentative step towards the middle of the foyer.

"Oh, you'll see," he grinned, pressing lightly on one of the enormous oak doors that led to the outside of the castle.


	19. Nineteen: The Chase and the Black Lake

**Welcome to Chapter 19, my lovelies (: This particularly long dialogue was one of my favorites to write so far. Be forewarned: this chapter is mostly dialogue.**

**Pay close attention--be on the lookout for any troubling things that may happen in this chapter and explain why. (Wink wink. It'll be a game. Winner gets a cameo in the next chapter, perhaps?) Tell me if you notice anything, you observant readers, you.**

**Review for me as always, thank you very much!**

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter = JFK's**

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Draco tumbled onto the squishy grass, rolling over twice in the dew-covered blades before coming to rest with his arms behind his head and one knee pointing up towards the sky. He had led the two of them outside the castle, past the broom shed, past the Quidditch pitch, and over to a stretch of lawn located precariously close to the lake. He knew Pansy would never walk all the way out here, the fat pig--and Amber probably didn't even know there _was _a Quidditch pitch, the superficial bitch. Yes, it was a delightfully calculated spot. He shifted his weight onto his elbows and looked expectantly up at Hermione. She stood about nine feet away from him, arms perpetually crossed, eyebrows furrowed and jaw set.

"Well?" he asked unconcernedly. She expelled her breath in a quick puff and tensed up her shoulders, bright brown eyes flashing at him. "I suppose I'm keeping this, then?" he sighed, reaching into the waistband of his pants to expose a corner of her shrunken book. She bristled and opened her mouth slightly, then stepped firmly forward and plopped herself down beside him, her skirt breezing up towards her waist as she did so. He snickered and she directed her attention towards him, blushed, and then tucked her skirt deliberately underneath her thighs.

"What time is it?" she asked briskly, her voice edged with poison.

"Come now, Hermione," Draco answered lazily, turning onto his side and propping his head up with one slender arm. "Don't be hasty. It's only been about an hour--you've got twenty-three left."

"Twenty-three?!" she barked, twisting her entire body to glare at him. "By _all day_, I assumed you'd meant--"

"Twenty-four hours in a day, love," he replied, being sure to keep his manner aloof.

"You--you--" she stumbled, fists curling around the grass beneath her fingers.

"Gorgeous."

"What?" she sputtered, taken by surprise.

"I'm helping you," he said innocently, batting his eyelashes. "You gorgeous...?"

"Oh, stuff it, Malfoy," Hermione muttered, turning away from him in frustration. He grinned and rolled onto his back again.

"Why can't we be friends again, sweetheart?" he inquired unaffectedly, tickling a little flower with the tip of his finger.

"Don't call me 'sweetheart.'"

"I'm sorry, I meant 'darling.'"

"Not that, either."

"'Turtledove,' then."

"Stop that."

"'Ducky.'"

"Don't."

"'Princess.'"

"Cut it out."

He paused for dramatic affect, and then, leaning towards her with half-lidded eyes and a devious smirk, "_'Muffin?_'" He sat back with a pleased expression as the blush crept up her neck and pooled in her cheeks, turning the tip of her nose and the tops of her ears a very bright red.

"Draco Malfoy, I told you to stop it!" He blinked twice, expressionless, before settling back onto his elbows with a satisfied grin. "What now?" she sighed exasperatedly. "What on earth could you possibly be beaming about now?" He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, trying his best to halt his growing smile as he stretched his arms out to both sides of his pretty blonde head and lay his head on the grass. "Oh, shut up," she said quietly.

"So I'm allowed to call you Muffin, then?" he smirked.

"Of course not," she retorted angrily.

"Well, you're allowed to call me Draco," he answered, fingers tracing the petals of the tiny flower next to him.

"That's nice to know," she said. "Malfoy," she finished quickly, eyes darting towards his face. He frowned slightly.

"You're harshing my mellow," he told her seriously, stretching his legs out towards the lake. He heard her cough and glanced up at her, only to find her concealing a smile behind her fist. He found himself smiling as well. "Why are you laughing?"

"I'm not," she responded, trying her best to keep her voice cold.

"You must think I'm stupid," Draco mused, quoting her directly as he tilted his head to one side.

"Maybe a little," she bit, lowering her hand and shifting it behind herself to support her weight.

"Ouch, Granger," he teased. "A bit harsh, no?"

"No," she answered simply, brushing a bit of hair out of her face. He smiled again.

"Hermione," he began. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, eyebrow cocked slightly. "May I kiss you?" he asked, grinning up at her. Her elbow buckled underneath her and she opened her mouth wide, eyebrows darting down in an automatic defense.

"No!" she almost yelled, scooting slightly away from him. He frowned, slightly offended.

"Why not?"

"B-because!" she said angrily, drawing her legs underneath her round little butt and continuing to scoot backwards from him.

"Because _whyyy_?" he prodded, rolling onto his stomach and crawling towards her with a mischievous grin.

"Malfoy, I--"

"_Draco_," he corrected, continuing to pursue her as she scampered away on her hands and knees.

"Er--" she stammered, propelling herself towards the Quidditch pitch.

"A reason, Hermione?"

"I'm angry with you!" she managed, forcing her expression into one of fury. "You've been having sex with god knows who--"

"Abstinent, Hermione. Recently I've been absolutely virginal," he assured her, speeding up slightly in order to catch up.

"Well, if you expect me to leap back into your arms simply because you haven't had sex in _three days_, you've got--"

"Three days is a lot for me, Hermione, you know that," he nodded. "I'm seventeen years old. I'm full of--" he dropped his chin slightly in order to properly seduce her with a smirk, "--_hormones_." She made a terrified little noise and threw her hands between her knees, pushing herself onto her feet with mind-blowing agility.

"So go find one of your Slytherin slags to snog!" she tossed over her shoulder, speeding away from him. Draco leapt to his feet and chased after her, grinning wildly.

"A chase, eh? I like playing tag!" he called to her. She made a sharp right turn followed by a circle around a tree. Draco almost caught her but instead grazed the fabric of her shirt, causing her to thrust out her hips and quicken her pace. "Slow down, love!" he laughed.

"Leave me alone!" Hermione yelled, weaving expertly in and out of various trees.

"You should play Quidditch, honey," Draco shouted. "You're rather swift!"

"Stop calling me names!" she hollered. A good forty feet ahead of him, Draco was shocked when she threw herself head-first into a perfect cartwheel, landed on both feet, and continued running without so much as a glance behind herself. He laughed outloud. Surely this coy little action meant that they were actually playing now, rather than just him chasing her around on the fields.

"You think you're so clever, don't you, Hermione?" he screamed.

"Yes!" she screamed back, performing another perfect cartwheel--this time the opposite way.

"Where'd you learn that?" he asked her loudly. "I don't suppose that skill carries over to the bedroom?" She faced him over her shoulder angrily.

"Leave me alone!" she repeated. He was tiring, now. That much was clear.

"You'll have to stop sooner or later!" he observed. "And when you do, I'll sneak up behind you and _then _we'll see what happens!"

"We'll just see about that, _Malfoy_," Hermione called, batting her eyelashes as she said his last name.

"I suppose we will!"

"Fuck off!" she taunted, making a few more sharp turns in an attempt to lose him between the trees.

"Scream it louder!" he shouted. "Let the whole castle hear you!"

In her momentary distraction, while fully engaged in the back-and-forth battle occurring just over her shoulder, it appeared that Hermione didn't notice she was heading straight for the lake. Draco reached one arm out to her (a stupid move, really, considering he was still around twenty-five feet behind her) and barked an attempt at a warning. She rolled her eyes and faced forward again, less than ten feet from the water's edge, and shrieked as she found herself suddenly face-to-face with the Black Lake. She skidded to a halt, once again displaying her alarmingly well-developed motor skills, and Draco was so relieved to see her safe from the water's edge that he himself forgot to stop. He collided with her completely on accident, arms thrown automatically about her waist, and his momentum carrying them forward and toppling them into the drink with a guttural gasp, an ear-piercing screech, and a gargantuan splash. As soon as he hit the water Draco exhaled sharply, causing him to panic slightly in his quest for breath, kicking back to the surface while hanging onto Hermione still. They emerged, he breathed deeply, and she coughed what can only be described as the scariest three coughs Draco had ever heard. He watched her carefully, the shock of cold water not yet setting in, until she drew in a ragged and shuddering breath. He held the air captive in his throat, eyes widening, as she struggled to work her lungs.

He was taken completely by surprise by the laughter spilling out of her mouth only moments afterward. He blinked, stunned, and then began to laugh as well, throwing his wet blonde head back in merriment. Only when her hands slithered up to wrap around his did he lock his eyes back onto hers. She smirked at him--the little devil, _smirked _at _Draco Malfoy_--and brought her knee up forcefully into his thigh--dangerously close to his most prized possessions. He drew his hips back automatically, gurgling at the pain surging through his leg, and slackened his grip on her waist. She seized the opportunity to completely rip his hands from around herself, bringing them above the surface of the water and intertwining her fingers with his own before giving them a teasing little squeeze and making a break for the shore. He cupped his family jewels possessively, seething at the backside of her now-deflated mane of hair.

"Cute, Granger!" he spat, testing out his hardware by giving an experimental rub through his soaked jeans. He was relieved to find himself in perfect condition, except for the rather nasty bruise he knew was going to sprout upon his otherwise perfectly muscular inner thigh.

"I am, aren't I?" she shot back, crawling from the bank of the lake and up onto the surrounding grass.

"You could have severely jeapordized my ability to carry on the Malfoy name, you know," he observed angrily, paddling neatly to her current resting spot. She leaned back, one delicate arm over her tummy, and closed her eyes. When Draco dropped himself down beside her, hair a dripping tangled mess, sweater seeping water onto the grass, she opened her eyes and sat up quickly, closing her smooth-as-silk hands around her matted curls and squeezing as hard as she could. Draco cried out in surprise at the hose-worthy influx of water that came squirting out of her ponytail and directly onto the front of his three-hundred thread count sweater.


	20. Twenty: Petrificus and Finite

**Okay, okay. You guys have been begging for weeks now so here's Chapter Twenty. But, nobody even attempted to guess at my plot point! That means nobody gets a cameo in the story I suppose : / And I was so looking forward to slipping in a new character. I must say, I'm disappointed in you guys. I was waiting for two-ish weeks for someone to even attempt a guess. Does this mean that no one even reads my Authors' Notes? I feel like I'm having a midlife crisis!**

**Is anybody reading this at all?**

**By the way, as you may have noticed, I frequently go back to the books for references and whatnot. I sometimes like to keep everything completely canon except for the plots--including floor plans, spells, little Hogwarts quirks, and a few aspects of certain characters.****  
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**Disclaimer: I'm too emotionally disabled to think of a clever disclaimer ):  
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Draco smoothed down the front of his sweater and glared at her.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked, dancing his muscular hands over the sopping black mess.

"You were wet already," she answered simply, shaking her head and effectively splashing more water onto his face and neck.

"Thanks. Thanks for that," he grumbled, using his palm to wipe the droplets from his mouth.

"My pleasure."

They sat in silence for a few moments, Hermione leaning back to lay quietly on the grass, and Draco propped up on his elbow, facing her. He watched her chest rise and fall and raised an eyebrow. So Hermione Granger breathed.

"Where did you learn to cartwheel?" he asked, tracing his finger along a blade of grass.

"I just picked it up," she answered sleepily.

"From whom?"

"Ginny Weasley. At the Burrow. Back when we were little girls."

"The _Burrow_?" Draco repeated, his face contorting in disgust.

"That's the name of the Weasleys' house," Hermione laughed, opening one lazy eye to look up at him.

"Want to know the name of my house?"

"Not particularly."

"'Malfoy Manor,'" he announced proudly, puffing his chest out. Hermione sneered.

"Quaint."

"Sophisticated, isn't it?"

"How old were you when you came up with the name? Eleven?" she berated. His smile evaporated.

"Ha-ha, Granger. My house has been called the Malfoy Manor for generations," he corrected her. "It's enormous, actually. Really expensive. Tons of rooms."

"Impressive," Hermione said listlessly.

"We've got peacocks," Draco added.

"You don't say," she mused, expressionless.

"White ones," he clarified.

"Riveting," Hermione responded, rolling her eyes.

"Has Weasley got any peacocks?"

"He's got lots of gnomes," Hermione admitted, eyes closed. Draco scoffed.

"Gnomes? We've got people to take care of those for us."

"They're quite fun, actually. I rather like them. I mean, they're vulgar, of course, but it's quite fun to get rid of them. They yell and jump around and things. It's really entertaining. We've spent entire days doing it in his garden, just Ron and I. Sometimes Harry helps, but usually he's at his aunt and uncle's house or with Dumbledore or something." Draco frowned.

"Well, we have gnomes, too." Hermione laughed. "Maybe someday you can come over and see them," he grinned teasingly. "And when we get tired of tossing gnomes through the gates, we can go up to my bedroom to rest. Or not rest, you know, whichever," he continued, smirking at her. She opened her eyes to stare unamusedly at him. "My bed's huge," he added with a wave of his eyebrows.

"I don't think your father would like that," she snickered.

Draco was caught off-guard. His forehead furrowed and his face got hot, his nose scrunched up and his mouth opened. He bit his lip as he realized the truth to what she was saying. She batted her eyelashes at him.

"Struck a nerve?" she asked simply.

"I'm not my father," Draco said quietly, fighting the blush that was encompassing his body.

"Of course not," Hermione agreed. "Just his son, right?" She waited for a reaction, watching him closely, her lips pursed and eyes expecting. When he shrunk slightly away she nodded smugly and turned back to look at the water.

And that was it. His lips were on her. God knows how they'd gotten there, but there they were. She let out a strangled noise of surprise but he hardly heard it. They were on her cheek, on her lips, inside her mouth. On her neck, on her chest, meeting her lips again and pressing hard against them. She fought with her arms but he was hovering over her and grabbed both about the wrists, holding them up beside her head. Then he stopped. His breathing was ragged and he came six inches above her face, regaining his composure. She was panting from the exertion of flailing around in an attempt to throw him off herself, her face flushed and her lips swollen and red. He allowed his knees to collapse, drawing them up towards his hips so that he was leaning against her as she lay motionless in the grass as opposed to straddling her and pinning her to the ground with his hips.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT," Hermione bellowed, her face the only part of her body to move. Draco winced.

"S-sorry," he muttered.

"Let go of my arms," she hissed, shaking her hands from side to side in his grasp.

He shook his head fiercely. "No!"

"And why the fuck not?" she spat tartly.

"You'll hit me!" he answered.

"You're goddamned right I'll hit you!" she assured, reaching with her knees to tear at his back. He edged easily out of her way. "Stop touching me!" she yelled, attempting to wrench herself out of his grasp.

"Fine, fine," he sighed, releasing one hand. She brought it up to his face and he caught it easily between his opposite hand and her own wrist. Holding onto both of her wrists, he used his free arm to snake into his jeans pocket and retrieve his wand.

"What the bloody hell?!" she screamed, wriggling to and fro beneath him. He smiled at her and pointed it at her forehead.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" he recited. He caught the pure rage on her face just before the spell took hold and laughed outloud when she stopped moving, her arms snapping to her sides. Her eyes followed him as he slipped the wand back into his pants and grinned down at her. "You really are quite pretty, Hermione," he told her seriously, "...as long as you're not talking." He laughed to himself and followed his joke with a slow, drawn out approach to her face--ending with a simple kiss on her still-sensitive lips. "Take a nap," he suggested, tapping the end of her nose with a finger. She narrowed her eyes and shot him a poison glare.

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"_Finite Incantatem_," he whispered. Hermione rolled over immediately and sighed deeply, her arms wrapping around his waist automatically. He was taken by surprise and he stiffened, his fingers unintentionally intertwining themselves in the grass. She breathed quietly and he attempted to disentangle himself from her arms, gingerly slipping his free hand across her shoulder in an attempt to slacken her grip. She frowned in her sleep and mumbled something cute, causing Draco to lament ever being born as he edged himself away from her. Halfway out from the crevice made by her forearms, he licked his lips nervously and chanced a peek at her face--just as her lips parted and her eyes rolled slowly open. She blinked a few times and then he came clearly into focus. She was visibly confused. He sat with his right knee up, his left leg sprawled out towards the lake. His right elbow supported his body weight and his torso faced her. She lay on her side, legs scrunched up in front of her, her ponytail loose and flying around her head and her arms wrapped tightly around the muscle Draco hadn't yet managed to wrestle away from her.

"What--" she whispered, eyebrows furrowing, before she bared her teeth in anger and dug her nails down into his midsection. He bucked, twisting away from her as he yelped in pain.

"Hermione!" he gasped, grabbing her by the wrists and wrenching her hands away from himself. "That really hurt!" he whined. She scoffed and flipped away from him and onto her stomach, balancing her chin on her palms. Facing her, he lifted the hem of his sweater to his chest, revealing alabaster skin and one pearly pink nipple. He swept his fingers over the thin red half-moons made by her sharp-ass fingernails and glared at her. Hermione's expression was slightly annoyed and her cheeks moderately pink, and it was then that he realized that his porcelain fingers were still gliding over his chiseled chest. Somewhat stunned at her reaction, Draco met her dark eyes with his own silver ones and refused to break contact as he trailed his fingers up to pinch lightly at his exposed nipple. He grinned cheekily at her and she looked disgustedly back at him.

"Very mature, Malfoy," she taunted, shaking her head slightly. He lowered his shirt and smirked.

"I saw you," he answered haughtily.

"Saw me what?" she inquired.

"Saw you! You know..." he winked.

"No, I'm afraid I don't," she assured him, narrowing her eyes.

He leaned in closer to her, exaggerated a quick search for possible eavesdroppers, and then whispered all-too-loudly, "_Aroused!_" She wasted no time in allowing her thin forearm to sweep up and make contact with his chest.

"I was no such thing," she grumbled, lowering herself back onto her hands.

"It's cool, it's cool," Draco responded nonchalantly. "It was a nipple-squeeze. It'd turn anyone on. Hell, if you'd done it--"

"Fuck you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione hissed.

"When and where?" he asked innocently, batting his eyelashes at her with a dimpled grin. She ignored his wit.

"So, you asshole, you immobilized me so that you could take advantage of me? Then you waited for me to fall asleep before releasing the spell? Think you're clever, do you? Well, your charming little nipple-squeezes won't distract me from this. It's _illegal_," she emphasized, spitting the last word about forty decibels louder than the rest of her speech. He winced.

"Who can really say what is and isn't legal--"

"Judges," Hermione interrupted matter-of-factly. "Police officers. Professor Dumbledore, perhaps?"

"--besides, I didn't take advantage of you while you were under the spell. I kissed you once."

"And that's considered rape, as long as I wasn't consenting."

"But you were consenting," Draco observed, taking an arrogant interest in his perfectly manicured nails.

"What?" Hermione sputtered. "You held me down--you, you--you grabbed me and--what in the bloody hell makes you think I was consenting?!"

Draco gazed away from his fingernails to stare lazily up at her from behind half-lidded eyes. He sighed and scooted a foot towards her, their noses almost pressing as he did so. She held her ground, the sweet little soldier, and threw her shoulders back in defiance as he tested her, nonblinking, by staring into her brown hate-filled eyes from a mere two inches away. Eternities passed with neither relenting to the other's unspoken challenge. This short little staring contest--this battle of bodily deprevation--this war against the invasion of personal space had somehow transformed into a kind of ego-fueled power trip. Hermione's nostrils flared as she gazed back at him in dislike, and he smirked and cocked one eyebrow. Just as his eyes began to scream out in pain, Draco quickly shut them--eliciting a triumphant gasp from Hermione--before he propelled his lips once more to crush against hers. She made a muffled noise in her throat and as he pulled away she once again wore a look of surprise and confusion that quickly gave way to anger.

"There. That seemed consenting enough," Draco observed. Hermione's blush came quickly and without warning, seeping onto her face like blotted red ink and causing her to open her mouth into a wide circle and blink her eyes quickly. Draco tutted and tilted his head with a little smile. "Close your mouth, sweetheart. You may attract flies."


	21. TwentyOne: Blindfolded and Invisible

**Haha hello everyone, I couldn't bear to continue the chapter after this. The next one should come rather quickly, but I had to split this one in half because I rather like leaving you all with a dramatic ending bit. I tied the _Obscuro _charm in here because I thought it'd be cute if she'd learned it from Draco and then used it in the canon. So this is where I'd like to think she'd gotten it from. Anyway, here's Draco and Hermione on their way to...somewhere. Does anyone want to chance a guess as to where? (;**

**Hint: No hints.**

**Summerlites--You're a dear. Thank you so much.**

** Inkbird and BlueSkyShyMoon08, both of your reviews made me smile a lot. I reread them quite a few times each.  
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**The answer to the question posed in Chapter 19 really is a lot simpler than it seems. The hint for that one is that it's more for super observant folks, and the answer's stuck somewhere in the first few lines of the chapter itself. (;  
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**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns my entire life.**

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"Right," Draco said, flashing a calculatedly winning grin in her direction. "Let's move on, shall we?" Hermione shot him a questioning glare before hoisting herself into a kneeling position.

"What are you on about?" she inquired deliberately, rolling the syllables carefully off her tongue.

"Well, you don't expect us to stay huddled up back here all day, do you?" he responded nonchalantly, peering casually down at his fingernails before extending his daintily muscular hand in her direction. To his surprise, she first pressed herself up onto her knees and then lowered her palm into his, graciously allowing him to hoist her the rest of the way to her feet. Her expression, however, still held utter distaste.

"And where the hell are we going to next?" she asked, voice dripping with annoyance. Draco tutted.

"Patience, love. Patience. I can assure you, however, that we'll not be riding dragons or bludgeoning trolls or anything of the sort." He grinned at her again, this time to slacken her uneasiness. In response she tilted her head away from him and narrowed her eyes.

"If you bring me within ten feet of your room, I'm going to kick you in the penis, I swear to God." He frowned at her.

"Well there goes that plan," he muttered to himself. Hermione shot him a glare venomous enough to cause him minor discomfort. "Come on," he urged darkly. She followed immediately after him.

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"What now?" Hermione sighed, bringing one arm up to rest on the curve of her hip. Draco met her eyes and raised one eyebrow with a devious little smirk. She frowned at him. "What?" she repeated, frustration edging the question.

"_Obscuro_," he responded, and a seam of silk shot out of the tip of his wand and tied itself over her eyes. Hermione cried out in alarm and her hands flew to the back of her head, fumbling with the impossible square knot in desperation.

"Draco Malfoy, undo this spell!" she commanded, stamping her foot when she had had enough of attempting to remove the blindfold herself. He laughed openly.

"Trust me?" he asked innocently, wrapping his hand around hers. There was a silence that lasted for all of three seconds.

"Never again," she answered defiantly, scowling as she intertwined her fingers with his. His heart sank as he felt his face do the same, and he was suddenly uncountably grateful for the Obscuro charm he'd discovered while actually reading a book for pleasure. The "Never," he could have dealt with. He would have scoffed at "Never." But the "_again_," was almost too painful for him to bear. So she had trusted him in the past, and he had slept with Amber Fisch, and he had kept it a secret and she had found out and so she would never trust him again. Never again. That bitch. He adjusted his features into a cold sneer and gripped her hand a little more tightly, edging the castle doors open and leading her carefully inside. He had the sudden urge to allow her to smack her sweet little Gryffindor face into the mahogany doors, but he resisted just long enough to pass them (though a part of him regretted it). He glanced down at the exposed parts of her face and did a double take when he found her smiling.

"What?" he asked her, his voice betraying a touch of cruelty. She either ignored it or didn't notice.

"I've never heard of _Obscuro._" As she confided this to him she wrinkled her nose, her little smile expanding into a widespread grin. Draco suddenly felt as if he had just witnessed a kitten kissing a mouse. His head swum with admiration and he found himself grinning in response.

"I've known it forever," he told her, careful to keep the smile out of his tone. "And it works on nearly anything, really. Portraits, as well."

"I'll remember that," she murmured, and the corners of her mouth fell slightly. He realized that she actually was memorizing the spell for later use and rolled his eyes. Then, suddenly Draco's heart leapt into his throat as he spotted a flash of red hair through his peripheral vision. He whipped around and found himself locking eyes with a redheaded Ravenclaw of little importance. His heartbeat quickened nonetheless and he soon recognized, with nothing less than utmost fear, the fact that the foyer was filling up rather quickly with students. He noted offhandedly that Hermione's mouth and eyebrows expressed mild concern. Obviously she was able to hear the chatter of various hungry teenagers spilling in and out of the Great Hall. Draco conjured his little clock and winced. It was just after ten.

"When do your friends come down, again?" he whispered breathily into her ear, leaning down within two inches and giving her hand a little squeeze to alert her to his presence.

"Er, different times each day," she announced worriedly. "Around nine-thirty, I suppose? Considering it's--" Rather than letting her finish, Draco cast a Disillusionment Charm and she shivered visibly with the sensation. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"You're gone, love," he told her. "Though I do look a bit batty now, my hand out and holding nothing." He squeezed her hand again and he grinned at the thought that she was probably blushing even though he wasn't currently able to see it.

"Would you just lift the spell so that I'll be able to walk on my own? Whatever this is, it can't be much of a surprise, Malfoy, seeing as I already know we're in the castle. I can probably work out where we're going, honestly."

"We'll be taking the staircases, Hermione," he answered, and paused at the bottom of the steps to let her adjust to her surroundings. "Hold the banister," he warned. After a moment he added, "Well, are you holding it?" She didn't respond and he repeated himself, more annoyedly this time. "Are you holding it or not?!"

"I nodded!" Hermione yelled back.

"You're fucking invisible!" Draco reminded her, half-dragging her up the staircase.

"Well, if you'd just take this bloody blindfold off--"

"People would see you anyways, so you'd still be invisible!" he finished for her.

"Well, I don't see why I even have to be invisible in the first place!" she retorted angrily. He heard her angry footfalls on the red carpet and it only served to raise his own temper. He yanked her to the top of the staircase and addressed the crowd gathered into a little pool on the stone tile about thirty feet below him.

"Here, Hermione, why don't I just lift the Disillusionment Charm here? Then, while I'm at it, I can anoint your head with my semen and hold you over the banister like Simba! How about that, Hermione?!" he whispered angrily, gesticulating with the hand wrapped around hers so that she could feel his movement.

"Oh, shut up! I don't even know where we are!" she responded snippily.

"We're in front of fucking everyone!" Draco bellowed. More than a few students looked up towards the spot where he was standing and he flipped them all the bird before reattaching himself to Hermione and dragging her up the connecting staircase once more.

"Why are you so rude?" she prompted angrily, stomping her foot again. "Just take this blindfold off already!"

"Goddammit, Hermione, this is supposed to be romantic!" Draco yelled over his shoulder at her, yanking her sharply so that she matched his pace.

"Yeah, Draco, this is definitely what every girl dreams of!" she screamed.

"Just--" he began furiously, fisting one hand into his blonde locks before his eyes wrenched open and his lips were quelled into silence.

"Just what, then?" she prodded loudly, matching his rage with her own. Her vice-like grip on his palm had become almost unbearable but he barely noticed.

"Nothing," he answered quietly, allowing a longer pause than was necessary and allowing himself to smile ever so slightly.


	22. TwentyTwo: Hecate and The Window

**Hello my beautiful readers, thank you all for being so lovely and patient (:**

**Special thanks to ajax the axe murderess, blue sky shy moon 08, and everrrryone who guessed. Especially all of you who guessed something about a tower, haha, you guys are great.  
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**Bellezza Eterna, the website link didn't show up! You have to tell me where else you've seen it, I'm itching to know.  
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**Also, I know it's asking a lot, but I'd be so grateful if you were to follow me on Tumblr! And if you haven't got a Tumblr, fucking tough. Go make one and then come back and follow me at Our Current Obsession (dot) Tumblr (dot) com. No spaces, of course. ****Do it or else. Just kidding, of course, but if you do have a Tumblr it really would mean a lot to me. (Please please please) Don't forget that I love you guys!**

**PS: Review. Review or I steal your mother's gold thimbles.  
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**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to both Ginny and JK Rowling. What the fuck ever, I don't care. I'm claiming Draco for myself.  
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"It stinks," Hermione said frankly. She twisted her face up into an expression of disgust and Draco was almost sorry he'd lifted the Disillusionment charm.

"Oh, shut up," he shot bitterly.

"Where are we?" she asked, a nervous hand reaching up to tug at the front of her shirt.

"Care to guess?" Draco attempted, turning to smile at her. She furrowed her brow, her masterful powers of process of elimination coming to life almost visibly.

"Next to a pile of shit." Draco's smile evaporated and was replaced with angry scowl.

"I told you to shut up about the smell, Hermione!" he yelled frustratedly. She pursed her lips.

"Alright, we're at Hagrid's." Draco scoffed loudly.

"Hah. Guess again."

"I've no idea, Draco, would you tell me?" she sighed exasperatedly.

"One more guess," he urged. She sighed and ran her fingers through her fringe, leaning her weight on her left leg. The hand still wrapped around his swung lightly as she turned herself in various angles, searching desperately for a clue other than horrible stench. Finally she answered.

"The kitchens." Draco smirked and leaned down next to her ear, pulling her hair to one side.

"Clever girl," he whispered, and he was pleased when she shivered and made no attempt to push him away. He was doubly pleased when he caught the little smile at her lips, and rewarded her by pressing the tip of his wand to the knot at the base of her head, effectively retracting the material back into the wood fibers. She blinked twice, eyes adjusting to the light. Her confident smile wavered as she opened her eyes and Draco laughed as she threw her head to either side, confusion evident in her open mouth and flushed cheeks.

"Draco Malfoy!" she cried, spinning to face him. "We are not at the kitchens!" He fluttered his eyelashes at her.

"I never said we were, love," he responded, again darting out his fingers to tuck her hair behind one ear.

The sunlight streamed through enormous and windowless stone arches and the shocking near-silence of the room was accented by the sounds of students on the grounds below. Hermione removed herself from Draco's side to stand in the center of the room, straw crunching under her feet, and to twirl in circles under the round, high-ceilinged point in the roof of the tower. She glanced at her toes, maneuvering herself carefully around the selected piles of filth that gave the room its distinct odor, and Draco strode towards her in satisfaction.

"Well?" he asked, and she spun to face him with a wry little grin.

"Well, what?"

"What do you think?" he asked. She raised one eyebrow.

"Honestly, I was expecting something a little more...grandiloquent," she giggled. She gestured to a hideous white splotch on the window sill. "The bird shit is a nice touch, though." Draco frowned again.

"What's your owl's name?" he demanded suddenly, facing the roosting pegs with a militarial formality. "Which one is she?" Hermione scoffed.

"I haven't got an owl, Draco." He deflated temporarily, unsure of what to do next, before regaining his confidence and extending his forearm towards the birds.

"Hecate!" he called imperiously. Hermione tentatively followed his gaze . A single peppered owl with fiercely blue eyes bent its beak out from beneath its sleepy wing, giving Draco a questioning glance. "Come," he commanded, nodding once and showing his arm even more insistently. The owl seemed to roll its eyes before flapping over to join the two students and perching itself importantly between Draco's elbow and wrist. He beamed and thrust his arm out towards Hermione, who shrieked and covered her face with her hands. He frowned and held the bird away from her. "You're not scared of him, are you?" he asked, raising one eyebrow with a skeptical little smile. Hermione blushed and peeked out from between her middle and index fingers.

"Don't be an idiot," she countered, tenuously lowering her arms with a transparent veil of confidence. "Of course I'm not afraid of bloody _owls._" Draco nodded in affirmation.

"No, of course not," he responded. He paused for a few moments before again holding Hecate out towards her face. This time, to Draco's utter delight, the bird flapped its ashen wings and called out in rebellion. Hermione fell away from him, screaming again as she batted her hands at Draco's outstretched arm.

"Stop it!" she demanded, eyes twisted shut and head turned in the opposite direction. Draco laughed in satisfaction before scooting his owl over so that it was as far from her as possible.

"Careful now, Hermione, you don't want to have an accident and add to these hideous piles of shit."

"Oh, shut up," she sneered, brushing off the front of her skirt before reaching up to adjust her ponytail. "So I don't like birds. So what? It's not like _you're_ not afraid of something." With this, she crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg, effectively contorting every single muscle in her face into a challenging glare. Draco scoffed again.

"No, I'm not afraid of anything," he answered dismissively, plucking a loose feather from the front of his sweater. She barked a laugh and then narrowed her eyes at him.

"There has to be at least one thing, Draco. Please. God knows you're not immortal," she teased, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Alright," he admitted solemnly. "There is one thing." Hermione's smile vanished, leaving behind a faint trace of curiosity. Draco sighed and used his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck, feigning embarrassment. "I'm afraid of..." he began softly, toeing the floor in front of him as he ran one hand absentmindedly over his owl's back. Hermione waited patiently, eyes narrowed but eyebrows arched in disbelief.

"Well?" she prompted finally, tapping her foot twice.

Draco grinned at her as the word left her mouth, and then shouted: "LOUD FUCKING NOISES!"

Almost immediately, the flock of sleeping owls stirred to life as if connected to a single monstrous organism, screeching and hooting as they flapped their wings in annoyance and fear. Hermione, filled with terror, nearly fell to the floor in shock and Draco stood staring up at the massive collection of Hogwarts owls, laughing giddily as they rose into the air and collected at the peak of the ceiling. Hermione continued to scream as multifarious birds swam around her head, wings beating furiously. Draco glanced down to measure her reaction as his own bird joined the circling pack, and, noticing Hermione's expression of horror, frowned in annoyance. He took hold of her arm and she moved gratefully into the pocket of warmth between his arms and torso, catching him off guard and causing him to wince in discomfort. Nonetheless he wrapped himself around her protectively, grinning to himself at the cleverness (albeit accidental cleverness) of it all.

As the last owl escaped from the large stone windows and the hooting finally subsided, Draco slackened his grip on Hermione's waist and allowed her to regain her composure.

Composure never came.

In one fluid movement, she deftly detached her arm from its place between their respective chests and used it to slap him smartly on the face. He caught his cheek and cried out in surprise.

"Hey!" he bellowed angrily. Hermione tilted her head to one side.

"Don't you think you bloody well deserve it?!" she demanded, pushing herself away from him before throwing her arms up about her head.

"No!" Draco answered thickly, testing his jaw against the base of his palm. Hermione snorted in disbelief.

"You're just ever-so-slightly impossible, Draco Malfoy," she spat, spinning furiously away from him. He frowned defeatedly, still pressing his chin against his hand, before positioning himself directly behind her.

"It was cool though, wasn't it?" he asked, the grin audible in his voice. She huffed angrily and pointedly ignored him, sticking her chin out in defiance. He rolled his eyes. "And look." She ignored him still. "Look, I said." She blinked a few times but did not acknowledge him. "Hermione, _look!_" Draco hissed, grabbing her face with one hand and pointing it towards the opposite side of the room.

The space that had been previously occupied by hundreds of brown and grey owls was now clear of everything but brown and grey feathers gathered in little bunches beneath various pegs and stands. Behind hundreds of wooden bars of varying heights was a half-concealed window starting from the base of the tower and extending all the way up until the angled point, sectioning off into three branches as it reached the middle of the room. The window itself was divided into ten or twenty smaller windows, with empty wooden frames which Draco presumed were essential in keeping dumbass first years from tumbling to their deaths. With a smug little smirk he dropped his fingers from their place at Hermione's cheeks and allowed her jaw to fall open in awe.

"I've never seen this before!" she exclaimed, taking three steps toward the window before stopping herself. "I've never even--I didn't know this was here!" She allowed herself another dainty little step and then clutched at her face in wonder. Draco's chest swelled with self-worth.

"I discovered it myself, just last year," he told her matter-of-factly. "It really is a nice window. As far as windows go," he added, not particularly wanting to encourage a reputation for having an overzealous (and incredibly poncey) appreciation for interior design. Hermione, apparently, finally remembered how to properly control her legs, for after taking one more shaky step forward, she ran to examine the architecture. She stopped within three feet, however, and turned to grin at Draco--eyes bright and cheeks flushed. He was taken aback and his own eyes widened in surprise. He raised one teasing eyebrow to show her how ridiculous he thought she was being, getting all excited over something so dumb, but she retreated and took him firmly by the hand before dragging him to the wall, making sure to be extra gentle as she fingered the detail work with a reverence unfitting for a stupid little window.


	23. TwentyThree: Bananas and Bananas

**Hi. Yes, I know, I know. I keep doing this to you. I truly am sorry. My excuse this time is that senior year positively tore my ass to shreds. Now, however, I'm on Christmas break and following Christmas break comes the incredibly lazy second half of senior year. Perhaps updates will become slightly more regular.**

**Truly, truly sorry. Hello again, though (:**

**ATTENTION: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS THE WORD "ERECTION" LIKE, FORTY THOUSAND TIMES. IF THE WORD "ERECTION" OR SURROUNDING METAPHORS BOTHERS YOU IN ANY WAY, I HIGHLY SUGGEST YOU DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER.  
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**Disclaimer: Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. Also, Harry Potter is JK Rowling's, as per usual.  
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Draco cleared his throat once before rolling his head towards hers, his crossed arms accenting his raised eyebrows and half-smirk. "Shall we press onward, then?" he prodded innocently, flashing her a grin. He hadn't expected her to become so enthralled in this dingy little room. I mean, sure, it was nice, but it wasn't something to become bloody _obsessed_ over.

"Yes, of course," she answered, trying to conceal her disappointment. She then remembered to be cross with him and lowered her eyebrows. "Where are you forcing me to next?" she inquired grudgingly. He rolled his eyes.

"To get some food into your tummy," he told her, patting her stomach gingerly with one hand. She glanced down and winced, probably just realizing how hungry she had become. Draco was hungry as well--about hungry enough to attempt one of Hagrid's infamous rock cakes. He peeked at his little conjured watch and caught her trying to sneak a glance as well, then swiftly pocketed his wand and glared disapprovingly at her. They'd wasted an hour and a half in here. It was just past noon, and Draco still had plenty of ideas for the two of them, many of which were quite devious indeed and a few of which were sure to be illegal in many countries. He grinned to himself.

"Pardon me, Malfoy," Hermione offered weakly. "Can we get going?" He shook himself away from his (naughty) thoughts and boldly took hold of her hand. She did not chastise him. He raised his eyebrows and made a satisfied face, which she caught and scoffed at.

He led her down countless staircases, moving and otherwise, and towards the Slytherin dungeons. He turned sharply left and brought Hermione directly underneath the atrium of the school and towards an enormous portrait of a rather plain looking bowl of fruit. He smirked at her over his shoulder as he found the hidden doorknob, and bowed to allow her entrance. She obliged and threw herself directly at the stacks of food on various tables stretched throughout the enormous room, careful to avoid the four large ones in the center. Draco watched amusedly as she grabbed a handful of crisps and tossed them into a metal bowl, followed by a banana and a little piece of cheese sandwich. He himself snatched up roast potatoes and chicken. The house elves worked merrily around them, bowing low and emitting compliment after compliment, ignored by Draco and adored by Hermione. She begged them to stop being so polite.

After a few moments, Draco bit a corner off a potato and made to catch her eye, only to find her unpeeling a slightly less than ripe banana. He swallowed hard, the analogies swimming into his mind almost immediately. His mouth opened slightly as he watched her snatch another crisp from her bowl and pop it between her lips, anticipation etched into his features. His own meal lay forgotten. Hermione sniffed loudly and brought the obscenely phallic fruit up towards her face, running the tip of her tongue over her ruby lips before, after what seemed like an eternity, she opened wide and allowed the tip into the incredibly warm cavern of her mouth. Draco shut his eyes tight in arousal and then opened them again, not willing to miss anything. She bit down and he grimaced, but continued to watch nonetheless. He followed the curve of her jaw as she chewed and the angle of her neck as she swallowed, and then her lips parted again and she slid her mouth around it a little more slowly this time. He could have cried, it was so beautiful. He longed to have her alone. Hell, he longed to have her. They could do it here on top of the tables for all he cared, he just wanted her hot mouth on _him._ And the third bite was the most glorious of all. This time, as she pressed the fruit farther into her mouth, she allowed her tongue to drop down and caress the underside of the pale yellow flesh.

"Hermione!" Draco half-screamed, his fist pounding onto the counter top. Startled, she bit down on her banana and everything seemed to speed back up to normal pace. Draco was now in possession of a painfully growing erection, and he furrowed his eyebrows in annoyance and discomfort, shifting in his seat to ease the strain in his pants.

"What?" she said, completely oblivious. He blinked at her, unable to believe her innocence.

"Stop--doing that!" he whispered angrily, one hand sneaking down to pull discreetly at the fabric bunching at his trouser fronts.

"Doing what?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"_That_," he hissed, gesturing at her banana. She looked from his pointed finger to his flushed face and down to her half-eaten banana before letting her eyes rest on his face again. Suddenly, recognition illuminated her features and a furious red blush followed its radiance.

"I--did I--" she stammered, her nails digging into the unpeeled lower half of her snack.

"Yeah, just a little," Draco murmured, disgruntled, as he continued adjusting himself on the stool. He was throbbing, he was so turned on. Her face burned redder than he'd ever seen it, about the color of dark rhubarb, and she shook her head lightly and quickly.

"S-sorry," she squeaked. "I didn't mean to, I'm so--"

"Don't worry," he winced, shielding himself from her gaze with one hand. She was embarrassing him. This never happened. This was so bloody wrong. Witches _lived _to bring about his arousal, and here was Hermione Granger, _mistakenly _causing him to become harder than he'd ever been before and then trying to apologize for it. He pushed his mostly-eaten potatoes away from himself and Hermione followed suit, still clutching that damned banana. Draco caught her eye and she flushed a darker shade, which he hadn't thought was possible. He smirked knowingly at her, much to her consternation, and she pressed the tips of her finger to the bridge of her nose in humiliation. "Hermione." He addressed her without a quaver in his voice.

"Yes?" she answered, innumerable tremors running throughout the length of the single syllable.

"Either finish it or toss it away," he grinned.

"Right," she answered, paling considerably.

He fully expected her to do the latter. He had even positioned his hips away from her to spare her from the embarrassment of actually seeing the blazing erection seated proudly in his lap as she got up to toss it into the bin. I mean, of course she knew he had them. She'd even felt them before. But, the truth was, Draco hadn't had sex in three days and it was getting to be a bit much. Hermione hadn't actually felt him in quite a while, and seeing him was something entirely different.

"Right," Hermione repeated, and, to his surprise, she lifted the banana to her lips again. His mouth actually fell open in shock and he groaned at the unbearable hardness pressing its way through his trousers. She covered the lower half of her face with one hand and brought the fruit underneath it, shoving the rest in her mouth before pulling the empty peel away and tossing it into her metal bowl. Draco was taken by surprise. There'd been a substantial amount of banana left in that peel, and she'd shoveled it away in one bite without so much as a second thought. He grinned again. Merlin, he was learning so much. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly after a moment, the persistent blush hanging about her cheeks."

"I'll be fine," he answered patronizingly, batting his eyelashes at her. "I mean, it's just a bloody erection, after all." Her eyelids clamped in on each other at the word and she scrunched up her face. "Jesus, Hermione, don't tell me the word 'erection' bothers you." She shook her head but her face betrayed her. It was now the color of a sunburned tomato. "I don't suppose you'd like to finish what you've started?" he asked nonchalantly. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed at him with a mixture of shock and horror, all the while looking ultimately offended. He sighed. "Didn't think so. It's a shame, really," he added. A moment passed before he clapped his hands together. "Right! Next would be the Room of Requirement, I'd say!" he sparkled, standing up blatantly and with no attempt to conceal his tented nether regions. Hermione whimpered despite herself and clapped her hands to her face, her virgin Gryffindor alliance evident on her cheeks. He snickered.

"Draco," she wailed.

"Yes, love?" he inquired innocently.

"Would you at least--"

"Yes?"

"...I don't know," she sighed defeatedly, allowing him to take her hand and lead her towards the portrait hole.

"Really, Hermione, it's your fault," he chastised. "You might as well take responsibility."

* * *

"I don't want to go in there," Hermione whined, stamping her foot on the cold stone floor.

"I think you do," Draco answered, shoving her towards the mahogany door with one hand and twisting the knob with the other. He pressed her forward apprehensively, unsure of what would be waiting for him on the other side. (He hoped to god it wasn't an extra large bed. He was sure she wouldn't like that one bit.) To his relief, they found the exact same room Hermione had dreamed up a while back. However, he noticed amusedly, the colors had been reversed. This time, green and silver cushions and carpets adorned every surface and a single Gryffindor pillow sat expectantly in the center of the dark oak table. She scuttled over and grabbed it, holding it fearfully as she turned to face Draco. "Oh, do calm down," he chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I'm not going to ravage you, Hermione."

"But you--"

"I do have _some _semblance of self control, thank you," he assured her. He gesticulated to his loins, where his trousers lay parallel to his legs: tent-free and utterly inconspicuous. She blinked again, and then he watched as her eyes traveled upwards to meet his.

"I really am sorry," she began. Draco stepped expertly around her and stretched himself out on the couch in front of the fire place.

"I don't mind," he mused. Unsure of herself, Hermione hesitated at the door before bolting decidedly for the armchair beside him. She smoothed her skirt out over her crossed legs, obviously being extra careful not to show any unnecessary bits of skin. Draco scoffed at her again.

"I won't touch you, I swear!" he bellowed. She giggled, surprising him again, and nodded solemnly.

"Alright, I know." She let her eyes flick to the fire and suddenly Draco was within four inches of her neck, blowing hot puffs of warm air into her left ear. She spun around, startled, to find him on all fours, knees on the edge of the couch and elbows resting cautiously on the arm of her seat. "What are you doing?" she asked, a bit quieter than she probably would have liked.

"I didn't say that I wasn't going to let _you _touch me," he smirked. Hermione narrowed her eyes and snaked herself away from him, taking her cushion and flopping it directly in the center of the shaggy silver rug. She stretched herself out and faced away from him. Draco shrugged and collapsed onto his sofa again.


	24. TwentyFour: Honeydukes and Licorice

**Okay, okay, okay. Second chapter in two days. We are on a roll here. D'you notice that I've had to change the rating from Teen to Mature because this is becoming sexier by the second? You see that? Yeah. Either sorry or you're welcome, depending on how you're taking it.**

**The sweetest thing that you can do for me is review. Alternatively, tell me what you think of this new and penis-centered dynamic here.  
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**Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns my entire world**

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"Hermione." His eyes narrowed and he raised one eyebrow, his perfectly sculpted lips taking the form of a displeased frown. No answer. He leaned forward on his couch, spreading his legs behind him as he stretched. "_Hermione._"

"What?" came a voice from directly behind him. He jumped and swiveled around, trying not to look frightened. She snickered.

"Where've you been?" Draco asked, lifting one lazy arm to rub sleepily at his left eye. He hiked up his shirt to scratch his lower belly and smirked in satisfaction as her eyes followed his hand.

"Reading," she answered plainly, her voice unaffected by his glorious muscles. He frowned. His glorious muscles were supposed to affect everyone.

"Reading?" he repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes, reading!" she snapped.

"Reading what?" She spun around and pointed at the magnificent table in the center of the room. It was piled high with schoolbooks.

"I found them in the corner of the room. Just there," she explained happily, drawing her hand across the air and letting it fall on a little, unassuming bookshelf over by the door. He shot her a look.

"Reading, Hermione? Really? And schoolbooks, no less?" his icey eyes narrowed evermore. She tinged pink.

"I love reading," she bit matter-of-factly. "And it's not like there was anything else to do, other than _watch you sleep,_ I mean, and how much fun would that have--"

"Quite a bit of fun," he cut her off, grinning. "Wouldn't you love to see me dreaming? I imagine I'd be even more beautiful than I usually am." She pulled a disgusted face and he pursed his lips. "If possible," he added.

"You're revolting," she told him plainly, swinging her legs over the arm of his sofa to sit beside him. She was clutching a thin volume titled Arithmancy and You. He laughed out loud. "Do you have anything else planned," she asked snippily, "or are we just going to sit here for the rest of the day?" He smirked again. He was rather pleased with her acceptance of his various activities. Earlier, she hadn't wanted to take one step in his direction, and now she was obediently following him all across the school. He opened his mouth to speak but she continued, "I mean, it's already nearly four o' clock." His eyes shot open and he scanned the room, finding a large clock of Roman Numerals (which he hated) hanging on the far wall. Indeed, it was three forty eight. He conjured up his time teller again, and it read the same thing. He groaned. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked, scooting a bit closer to take a look at the smaller clock. "Have we missed something?" He shoved his wand into his pocket and sighed.

"No, of course not. We're just about an hour late." He ran a pale hand through his godly hair. How he loved his godly hair. "I suppose I'll just have to cut something out, that's all," he finished. He stood quickly, taking her by surprise, and offered his hand. "We'd better be off." She smiled warily at him and, taking it, chose to intertwine her fingers with his for the first time in days. He grinned giddily and hid it with a series of fake coughs.

"Shall I leave this here?" Hermione asked disappointedly. Draco snatched the book from her opposite arm and threw it against the wall. She watched it and then turned to glower furiously at him.

"Yes, leave it."

* * *

Draco stopped her abruptly when he caught sight of the statue of a crooked, bent-up old hag with only one eye. He released Hermione's hand in order to make an awkward half-circle around it, examining it closely before returning to her side once more. He flipped around to face her and flashed a sneaky little grin before extracting his wand and pressing the tip against the statue's shoulder.

"_Dissendium_," he recited clearly, bringing the wand back to tap imperiously against the base of his palm. Hermione rolled her eyes and then yelped, startled, as the statue scraped out of the way and revealed a person-sized hole. Draco smirked over his shoulder and she blinked back at him. He pushed her towards it.

"No!" she screeched, beating him about the shoulders as she dragged her feet, obviously trying to make this quite hard for him. "No, I won't!"

"Come on, Granger," Draco grunted. When he'd forced her through, the statue sealed the entrance and her mouth fell open.

"We're not to leave Hogwarts grounds!" Hermione berated angrily, balling her fists and attacking him with them.

"Who says we're leaving Hogwarts grounds?!" She stopped almost instantly, this thought obviously just occurring to her.

"Then--where...?" she murmured, doing a quick spin. The walls were stony and cold. It was dark and gloomy, quite frightening actually, and the passageway went on forever.

"Only joking, love," Draco snickered, stepping easily past her in order to continue down the hallway. "We're leaving Hogwarts grounds."

"Malfoy!"

"Draco," he corrected smartly. About halfway through, he turned back to find her standing, fists balled in anger, at the mouth of the hall. He shrugged and walked on and, seconds later, heard her angry sigh followed by the heady slap of rubber soles. "About time, Hermione."

"Stop," she warned. He lifted the trapdoor and hoisted himself out of it, then leaned down to lift her up. She collapsed in his arms and allowed him to carry her, the tiny little thing, out of the hole. Her eyes searched the room and she bit her lip, twisting her fingers together apprehensively. Draco kicked the wooden plank down with one foot.

"Calm down, would you?" he urged, snaking one arm around her waist. She pushed it away and pressed her arms tightly to her sides.

"I want to go back," she demanded.

"I'll take you back," he told her honestly, and he watched her features soften just slightly. "Just after this." The rage was back and she made a little noise like a trodden-on rat, crossing her arms furiously in front of her chest. "Come on," he sniggered, leading her up the stairs and into the main portion of the shop.

Fifteen or twenty people stood crowded around the counter, calling for bits of treacle and portions of chocolate standing high on cream-colored shelves. Draco searched her face for a reaction and Hermione delivered one: first shock, then confusion, then a grinning kind of disbelief. He laughed and she looked at him, transforming her face into one of supreme annoyance almost immediately. She was clearly about to to protest when he, sneaky boy, snatched up a piece of taffy from the bin next to him and shoved it into her open mouth. Surprised, she extended her tongue and stared into his eyes before closing her lips around it and showing him a tiny smile. Wordlessly, he handed her a cloth bag that read "Honeydukes" in curling script, and she took it from him and tilted her head to one side.

"It can be fun to break rules," he told her simply, taking another bag for himself. He filled his almost halfway with Sugar Quills, his favorites, and Chocolate Frogs. He added a couple cartons of Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. He hated those, but he had to admit that they were great fun to eat with someone else. He followed the perimeter of the store, reaching into barrels and scooping out great handfuls of sweets before dumping them into his satchel. He glanced around and saw Hermione standing contemplatively in front of a shelf piled with Pepper Imps. "Grab some!" he called out to her. She gazed pointedly at him before reaching up with one hand and knocking a box into her sack.

Five minutes later he stood giddily at her side, opening the mouth of his bag in order to show her all the sweets he'd collected. She laughed but wouldn't allow him to look inside her own. Exhausted, he dragged her towards the cash register, where a lovely young woman smiled knowingly at the two of them. Hermione looked nervous, obviously afraid to be caught here when they weren't supposed to be, but Draco knew better. They had money, and that was all that mattered. He handed her his treasures, which she weighed carefully before turning back to him.

"Four galleons," she said simply. Draco didn't so much as blink before shoving his hand into his jeans pocket and counting out four blindingly gold lumps. She accepted them without question and then turned to Hermione. "And for you, dear?" Draco turned to look at her and she blushed before reaching into her satchel and extracting a single carton of Pepper Imps. The cashier smiled and rang her up, and Hermione fumbled in her shoe for a silver sickle. Draco flit, aghast, from Hermione to the cashier before laying his hand atop hers and gazing offendedly at her. She stared questioningly at him and he turned back to the woman behind the register.

"She'll have six galleons' worth," he told her, spreading the coins out on the counter. Hermione's mouth fell open.

"Draco, no!" she protested, shaking her head.

"Six," he repeated. The cashier laughed and nodded before smiling warmly at Hermione, who was still shaking her head wildly. Draco took hold of both her wrists and dragged her back towards the barrels of candy. "What are your favorites?" he asked simply.

"D-Draco," she stammered, face flushed. "Six galleons--"

"Stop," he commanded.

"That's an impossible amount to spend on _candy_, I've--"

"Hermione." He silenced her with the intensity of his glare. "_Stop._" Hermione's mouth snapped shut immediately and she stared worriedly back at him until he released one wrist to gesture at the numerous bins surrounding them. "What are your favorites?!"

* * *

"I've still got tons of essays to write," Hermione told him amusedly, biting down on the hind leg of a Chocolate Frog.

"Me too," Draco answered, whipping his head to the side in order to get a proper mouthful of his Licorice Wand. "Forget them." Hermione snorted.

"Forget them? Honestly?" she asked, irony dripping from her words. He chuckled.

"I must have forgotten that you're--"

"Hermione Granger," she finished. He nodded sagely and changed direction, and she accidentally took three steps forward before she noticed. "Where are we going?"

"Outside," Draco answered. He snapped off another piece of his wand and glanced over his shoulder just in time to see her roll her eyes in annoyance.

"_Obviously_."

"Obviously," he agreed, opening the enormous front doors and waiting for her to exit. They continued in silence for a moment.

"But where outside?" she pressed. He stopped walking and spun around to face her.

"You ask an awful lot of questions, don't you, Granger?" She blinked, taken aback, before regaining her composure.

"That's why I'm so clever," she told him. "I like answers. Now, where," and here she punctuated every word with a sudden step towards him, "are. We. Going?" When she was finished, she was a mere three inches away, and he felt her body heat rising away from her chest towards his own. He shivered, his skin itching to make contact with hers. Instead, however, he allowed himself to enjoy the proximity of their stance, a devilish little smirk playing its way across his face. She didn't move, her eyebrows bunched up in anger, lips a tight line, eyes shooting daggers from beneath her fringe, and so neither did he. They stood for a good minute or two, only meters from the entrance to Hogwarts castle, Hermione staring up at him in furious frustration and Draco down at her in blatant satisfaction (mixed with that same mind-blowing arousal). He hid his hands behind his back and snapped a third segment from his licorice wand, then brought the longer half to his lips before sucking it up slowly and greedily. Hermione huffed and he lowered his arm down around one shoulder, his left hand coming up to sneak the final piece of candy towards her lips. He half-expected her to kick him in the nuts.

To his surprise, however, she parted those teasingly full lips of hers to allow the licorice in, then tucked her head forward to take the rest of it from his hand, wrapped loosely around it. Her own hands snaked around his hips and grabbed onto his ass, pulling him towards her as she sucked it into her mouth, and, just as Draco feared he was about to shoot off in his pants, she darted out the tip of her pointed pink tongue to meet the tip of his index finger. His eyes and mouth made perfectly round circles as she ran the length of her tongue against the length of his finger, and when she kissed the space between his first and second digit he was quite sure he'd been dreaming the entire time.


	25. TwentyFive: Wood and The Cleansweep

**Dear Jenniluz,**

**Merry Christmas to YOU. Consider this your present.**

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"Where are we _going_?!" she repeated. He blatantly ignored her, arms full of ridiculous amounts of candy, in order to sink his teeth ponderously into a bit of ambiguous-looking jellybean. With nothing less than utmost satisfaction, he realized that he had somehow selected a toffee-flavored one. He popped it into his mouth with a grin and turned to face her.

"Listen, Granger," he shot, rolling the sweet into place between his teeth and his cheek. "I've just gotten a toffee Bertie Bott's. Let me enjoy this." She, obviously confused, threw up the hand that was not clutching the incredible satchel of Honeydukes' goods.

"What are you talking about?!" she asked exasperatedly. He flipped around again and walked ten paces, then swung open a little painted door and pushed her through. She cried in what was probably outrage, but he paid her no mind. "Jesus Christ," Hermione angrily muttered to herself, her eyes tracing the complex wooden structure surrounding them. It was dark. There was probably four or five tons of wood nailed in criss-cross formation above their heads, and, nearly three hundred meters up, a ceiling of evenly-spread planks. The two were forced to duck around the boards in order to move in any direction at all.

"This way," Draco announced brightly, shoving himself through a particularly tight hole. She grunted but followed him, dragging her fingers furiously along the wood. "Don't do that, love," he reprimanded. "You'll ruin your nails."

Finally he reached the edge of the maze and turned back to see how far she'd progressed. It wasn't far. He chuckled to himself and made to pull her through a tiny wedge of space between two thick boards, but she batted his hands away and yanked her skirt up five or six inches before swinging one immaculate leg onto the other side. He raised his eyebrows and smirked approvingly. When she'd made it through and tossed her candy at his feet, he reached blindly out in front of him until his palms touched heavy fabric. He traced his way downwards until he felt the scalloped bottom edge, and then threw it up in one go. He watched for Hermione's reaction.

Her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she tried to adjust to the light, ducking slightly in order to get a better view. He grinned, expecting delight.

Instead she displayed horror.

Her face contorted in fear as she whirled around to face one very confused Draco Malfoy. "Not here!" she sputtered.

"What's wrong?" he teased, kicking the bags out from under the cloth. "_Afraid_?" Clever Draco knew that she would never back down from a challenge.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, tossing her hands down around her sides. He frowned.

"I don't care," he answered plainly, dragging both bags towards the center of the field. "This is going to be fun."

"For whom?" Hermione spat, jogging to keep up with him.

"Everyone!" he laughed, lifting the bags off the ground for emphasis. He heard her scoff somewhere behind him.

"I highly, highly doubt it. Take me back."

"I will!" Draco promised. "After this."

"Draco Malfoy, I--"

"Hermione Granger, you what?" She closed her mouth with a loud snap and he glanced over his shoulder. She had obviously talked herself out of arguing, for her arms were crossed so tightly around her chest that it was as if she were holding back a ferocious hippogriff of dislike. "Here, now," he soothed, removing his wand from his pocket. "You _will _have fun. I promise." He turned to face the edge of the pitch and pointed his wand, calling, "_Accio Cleansweep_!" The two watched, Draco mortified and Hermione amused, as the broom shed across the field rattled slightly and then stopped moving. He cleared his throat, not willing to chance a look at her for fear of her expression. "_Accio Cleansweep_!" he repeated. Once again, the door to the shed moved for a second or two and then froze. He bit his lip and faced her. "Hermione, would you be a dear and--"

"_NO,_" she answered immediately. He sneered.

"Fine. Alright. Fine." He gave one more pointed glare before tossing the candy onto the floor and setting off at a run towards the opposite end of the field, grumbling as he went. He reached the shack and attempted to tear it open furiously, but found it locked. He kicked at the door before smacking the lock fiercely with his wand and bellowing "_ALOHOMORA._" It shot off and landed fifty feet away. He threw the door with all his might and, to his chagrin, it bounced back with equal force. He shoved it out of the way and snatched up the first broom he saw, barely even glancing at the name etched along the tail. "I'VE GOT IT, HERMIONE!" he screamed sarcastically, pointing eagerly at the tip. When he reached her she was smirking, her eyes sparkling with mirth. He curled his lips angrily at her. "Shut up," he muttered.

"What, you didn't get me one?" Hermione inquired half-seriously, tapping her finger against the slightly splintering wood of his Cleansweep.

"_No, _I didn't get you one," he mocked, affecting an annoyingly high-pitched and significantly more nasal version of her voice. She scoffed at him and lifted one patronizing eyebrow. "Get on," he commanded in an angry mutter. Her eyes split wide open.

"What?!"

"Get on my broomstick!" He fought himself not to laugh at his accidental innuendo. "At once!"

"No!"

"I'm being serious!"

"So am I!"

"Come here!"

"Make me!"

"Hermione Granger, you put your sweet little ass up on this broom _immediately_--"

"Or what?"

"Or--or--" he stammered furiously. He racked his brain for an idea and came up with one after only seconds of thought. Unfortunately, the idea hadn't fully processed before he acted. "_THIS!_" he screamed suddenly, and he kicked the sweets out of the way before stealing one muscular arm around her waist and snatching her up tight to his abdomen. She screeched and flailed around a bit as he brought his foot to the ground with as much force as he could muster. They were a hundred feet in the air before either of them knew it, and she looked positively green. He couldn't help but smile as her mouth opened and closed repeatedly. Obviously, he had taken her breath away.

"DRACO. FUCKING. MALFOY!" she gasped finally.

"Hermione," he answered.

"PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!" she sobbed, her fingernails digging painfully into his skin. He winced and nodded.

"Alright," he sighed. Then, the filthy liar merely tilted the broom at a sharp angle and swung her over so that her waist was balancing on the broom, rather than hanging precariously off his right arm. She screamed twice as loud, the noise hitting his eardrums like a shrieking teakettle. Her legs fought the air for some kind of foothold, and, finding none, she gathered all of her Gryffindor strength and just managed to hoist one leg up over the broom. Draco was impressed.

Currently, Draco was positioned along the broom like a true Quidditch player--the balls of his feet sitting snugly in the stirrups, his right fist just before his left around the handle, his entire torso leaning forward expertly. Hermione, however, clumsily straddled the front of the broom, facing the wrong way, with her feet dangling hopelessly below her and her hands over top of each other and gripping the same stretch of wood. He noticed that her knuckles were rapidly turning white and involuntarily let out one loud bark of laughter.

"I'm going to be killed, and it's going to be your fault," she moaned, an unrealistic amount of fear staining her face.

"You're not going to be killed," Draco assured her, leaning forward slightly to press his forehead against hers. She jerked away.

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, YOU BLOODY FUCKING--"

"I can see where I'm going!" Draco yelled back, his shoulders tensing. "Just because you can't doesn't mean that I can't," he added with a snicker.

"Draco, I want to go down," she whined, clearly terrified.

"I'd love for you to go down," he answered brightly, removing his eyes from the skies in order to wink at her. Her cheeks colored slightly.

"We'll never end up doing that if you kill me up here," she told him hopefully, judging his face for a reaction. He cocked one eyebrow. He knew what she was doing.

"How amazing does my hair look, Hermione?" he asked her suddenly. From the corner of his eye he saw her face harden in distaste. "Flying around all over the place, I mean? You can be honest."

"You're so--"

"Beautiful," he finished smartly. "I know."

"Let me get behind you," Hermione demanded after a moment's pause. He looked down at her, surprised.

"Why, you cheeky little thing!" he grinned.

"Stop. I don't like being in front."

"I never would have guessed," he laughed, leering at her. She rolled her eyes and grit her teeth.

"_Please_, Draco."

"That's good, Hermione," he smirked. "Beg for it."

"Draco Malfoy, you insufferable twat, either bring me down or let me sit behind you!" she screeched, boldly removing one shaking fist to grab at the front of his sweater. He grinned at her before tilting his head to one side.

"I'd let you finish taking it off, Hermione, but it's a bit chilly up here," he sighed. She was clearly about to scream at him again but he made so sharp a left turn that she was instead forced to throw both arms around his midsection and nearly cut off the airflow to his lungs. Even after he touched down on top of Gryffindor Tower, he allowed her to continue squeezing the life out of him. He removed the broom from underneath them and held it carefully in his left hand, using his right to steady her against the sloping roof.

"What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?" Hermione hissed. "Why on earth would you bring me up _here_?!" Draco blinked at her.

"If I'd brought you back down to the Quidditch Pitch, you'd just run off, now, wouldn't you?" She blushed. Obviously that's exactly what she'd been planning. "Oh, you wound me, Hermione," he choked, pressing his fingertips to his chest in fake sorrow. "You keep forgetting how devilishly clever I am." She shot a hot breath of air from her nostrils before remounting the broom, being careful to scoot all the way to the end so that he could climb on as well.

"Make this quick, Malfoy," she said briskly, screwing her arms into his ribcage. He rolled his eyes.

"Your wish is my command." He kicked off and leaned forward, shooting them off towards the Quidditch Pitch before realizing that her feet were in his stirrups. "You'll need to move, love," he shouted, nudging her toes with his heels. "I need those." She obliged immediately, twisting her legs up and holding them there. Eventually, however, she must have gotten tired, because, to his immense satisfaction, she soon hooked her calves around his own--presumably in order to give her muscles a rest. Draco found himself grinning nonetheless, and he rewarded her for this new intimacy by dipping low over the towers surrounding the field. She shrieked into his ear and buried her face into the crook of his neck. Fuck, he was going to have to take her flying more often. The one drawback was that he was rapidly becoming aware of a searing pain against his ribs, where she was currently squeezing him with enough force to kill a large animal.

"Hermione," he called, twisting his head slightly to be sure that she could hear him.

"Yes?" she answered obediently.

"You'll need to move your hands," he urged, grimacing slightly. She sounded panicked when she replied.

"Why? Why, why, why?"

"You're _hurting _me," he explained, wriggling uncomfortably.

"Oh!" she cried, her head shooting away from his in concern. "Sorry!" To his delight, she chose to lower her arms so that they rode low along his hips, her forearms dangerously close to the front of his pants.

"This is much better," he chuckled slyly. "Thank you."

"Sure," Hermione shouted, pressing her face back into the smooth skin of his neck.

* * *

Hermione's knees buckled when he dismounted. He caught her, of course, but he couldn't help but laugh as he did. She sighed deeply and ran one hand through her hair, which had fallen loose of its ponytail and now looked ridiculously larger than usual. Draco found it quite amusing. It stood straight up in places and fell flat in others. He let his eyes fall and noticed that the rest of her looked equally disheveled--her v-neck hanging off one shoulder and her skirt rumpled up around her gorgeous ass. Even her shoelaces had come untied. She looked horrendous. He laughed again and she glared at him.

"I do not fly well, Draco," she told him angrily, lifting her other hand to pat down her hair.

"I fly _very_ well," he mused, and he hooked his hands under the hem of his sweater. Hermione took a step backwards.

"What are you doing?!" she asked, a bit too loudly.

"Sweating," he answered plainly, smirking at her scandalized expression. He swooped it over his head and tossed it to the ground, then looked down to examine the puddles of moisture collecting along the length of his torso. He made a face and ran one hand from his chest to his waistband before wiping it against his trouser legs. "Do I smell?" he asked her, moving closer.

"N-no," she squeaked, taking a step backwards.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, lowering his head as he approached.

"Yes, I'm quite sure," she nodded furiously.

"Hermione, you're not even close enough to--"

"If you stank, I'd be able to smell you from here!" she assured, continuing to retreat away from him.

"Just smell me," he commanded, annoyance evident in his voice, before catching her about the waist again and dragging her towards his chest. She brought her arms up, probably to protect her from the allure of his glorious muscles, and turned her head to the side as she collided with his skin. He watched her eyelashes flutter and her mouth open.

"You--smell--g-goo-" she attempted, her entire body tensing against his. "Fine." she finished, and she slid herself out from underneath his arm.


	26. Twitter RPG Announcement and Story Notes

Hi, friends! Consider this one long Author's Note.

I hope you read this because I came up with the most MARVELOUS idea!

Attached are four Twitter accounts that I've created this afternoon.

http: // twitter . com / BooksNClevernes  
http: // twitter . com / SlytherinKing65  
http: // twitter . com / BoyWhoLived31  
http: // twitter . com / WeasleyCannons7

Now, god knows I can't be on all four accounts at once (as much as I'd like to), so I'm currently scouting for someone to play Draco, Harry, and Ron. (I would like to stay Hermione so that I may be swept off my feet by whosoever would like to play Draco.) It's going to be like a mini-RPG.

Are you guys interested? If so, PM me! I'll wait a week and then choose the best applicants, if I get any.

Now for some rules:  
I'd like to emphasize that each character has to be more or less like the ones I've presented here in my story--Draco the winningly romantic deviant, Harry the well-meaning best friend, Ronald the hothead who makes poor choices, and Hermione the clever victim of it all--with a secret sexy side. There will be banter, there will be laughter, there will be rude remarks. I'll be presenting you all with some examples of tweets they'd submit throughout the week, or for however long it takes me to choose the other three players. And, another thing: I'd like Draco's tweets to remain completely grammatically correct, punctuated, and capitalized. Harry's must be in "chat speak," meaning that he shorthands his tweets somewhat. (eg: lol hey ron wut r u up 2 2day? im still upstrs. r u w/ BooksNClevernes? tell her hi) Ron's tweets are usually grammatically correct, but he refuses to punctuate or capitalize anything.

Now for some regulations:  
If you would like to participate in my Twitter RPG, please send me a PM with who you would like to play, why you would like to play them, and some examples of how you would react to the following tweets:

BooksNCleverness - Sitting alone in the library. Again. Doing three essays for one bloody class. Thanks, WeasleyCannons7 & BoyWhoLived31.

WeasleyCannons7 - i am so fucking frustrated with all of this homework. why are all the professors unloading it NOW? i don't feel like doing ANYTHING

BoyWhoLived31 - SlytherinKing65 fuck u malfoy

SlytherinKing65 - Why did you follow me, BoyWhoLived31? Stalking me again? Not that I blame you.

Assuming I get any participants, I think this will be **so much fun.** It'll be like this story, only interactive.

And, finally, if any of you would like to create accounts for any of the supplementary characters from my story, like Amber, William, Ginny, Professor Snape, Crabbe, Goyle, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Neville, or anyone else who comes to mind, feel free to do so. And, if you want to, you can PM me and Hermione will probably follow you on Twitter! (Provided that the name you use is a little more creative than BlaiseZabini or GinnyWeasley. Something like BlaiseZamboni or WeasleyGirl would be completely acceptable.) I think this would be a really cool web of interaction that I can't seem to find anywhere on the site.

* * *

Okay, and now for notes on the story itself. It's far from over.

Once again, I've been eaten apart by time constraints! Second semester so far has found me trapped underneath college applications, rehearsals for the musical, and the untimely death of one of our classmates.

I think I'm starting to free up, though.

So, I'm not promising anything, but regular updates may be coming soon.

Thank you so much for putting up with me, I'm convinced that I have the best readers of all time.

(OF ALL TIME.)


	27. TwentySix: Dinner and The Expository

**Well, hello! Yes, indeed, it has been _much _too long. How have you been? Oh, that's lovely! I'm ever so glad to hear it.**

**Anyways, welcome to the Dinner Scene. It took an insane amount of time to write. I've been sitting here at the computer for hours. I know, it's awfully wordy and descriptive. There's hardly any dialogue in it at all! What a novel idea!**

**That being said, I still find it rather bland and I do think that it needs some fixing here and there :( I've done the best I can for the time being, however. So, I suppose that's that.**

**Right, then. I do hope you enjoy it.**

**Please let me know if you did :)**

**Thank you very, very much.**

**And now for the Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the old man and the sea...if either one of them were JK Rowling**

* * *

"Sweetheart, would you mind holding this a moment?" Draco asked, gazing down at her with half-lidded eyes. She stared back, noncomprehending, before blushing and shooting her hands out towards him. He took extra care to appear completely unaffected as he handed her his sweater and spun on his heel to leave her in the center of the field.

"Where are you going?" Hermione shouted after a moment.

"To the castle, love," he shouted back, not bothering to turn around. He heard her "tut" under her breath and then the sound of grass squishing loudly beneath her sneakers.

"What time is it?" she asked. He knew perfectly well that she could conjure up the watch herself, but rolled his eyes and obliged her request, waving his wand lazily in front of his face.

"Nearly seven," he answered plainly.

"It's time for dinner," she said worriedly, probably to herself. Draco nodded and slowed his pace so that she could catch up. As they neared the castle, she broke into a stride alongside him and shot her head up in a businesslike manner, swinging her arms swiftly like a particularly important little soldier. "Right! Well," she said briskly. "Today was actually...er, not entirely horrible, so. Uh. Thank you, I suppose." He raised one eyebrow in response so she continued. "I said thank you, Malfoy."

"Sure," he answered, wedging the castle doors open to allow her entrance. She slid past him and turned around so that she was staring directly at his face, then squared her shoulders and affected a serious expression.

"I guess I'll--" she began. Draco cut her off.

"You'll what?" he prodded, scooting easily past her. She kept still for a moment and then followed him towards the Great Hall.

"--I'll see you tomorrow. Or something," she added quickly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Er--or maybe during lessons," she mumbled.

"Tomorrow?" Draco repeated, turning to look at her over his shoulder as his hand found the panel of the enormous wooden door. She opened her mouth and then closed it weakly, one defiant hand coming up to rest pointlessly in the air beside her face. He leered at her. "You don't really believe that, now, do you, Hermione?" he murmured silkily, winking as he pushed.

"You _must _be joking," she winced, pressing her fingertips together nervously. "I mean, _surely _you aren't expecting me to--"

"We've got thirteen hours left, Hermione," he snickered. Her face contorted into one of anger and she shoved past him and towards the Gryffindor table. He caught her easily about the wrist and spun her around, her hair and skirt flailing wildly in the air and making a sort of half-circle before falling down into lazy poufs.

"What now, Malfoy?" she hissed, attempting to wrench herself out of his grasp. "Thirteen hours, I get it! Now let me eat my dinner in--"

"Thirteen hours _with me_," he clarified. He watched amusedly as his words took their affect on her. Her entire body seemed to tense up and then weaken in a matter of seconds. Her eyebrows shot up, her eyes widened, her hands balled into fists, and her knees locked; then she nearly fainted as they buckled underneath her and her legs spread involuntarily. Draco snatched her in mid-air and lifted her to her feet, then grinned and raised one devious eyebrow before tilting his head sharply towards his own House Table. "Come on, pet," he smirked. Hermione stood rooted to the ground, shaking her head furiously and whispering urgently at him.

"Draco--no!" she hissed. He gave her a warning look over his shoulder.

"Thirteen hours," he said simply, and then started towards the Slytherin end of the Hall.

"Draco! _Draco!_" she called, her voice as quiet as possible while still managing to sound completely furious.

* * *

"There now," he murmured soothingly. "This isn't absolutely terrible, now, is it?" He glanced across the table in order to catch her eye and found her staring pointedly at her mass of mashed potatoes, her shaky fingers twirling her spoon in very deliberate staccato circles. Slightly discouraged, he allowed his eyes to sweep to either side of her and found, to his amusement, both objects of his rejection--each absolutely livid and apparently attempting to crush her to bits with the intensity of their respective glares. He cleared his throat sharply and was all but completely offended when they refused to look up.

"_Pansy_," he spat. She blinked a number of times and then met his gaze. And then, Draco noted, the fat oaf had the audacity to _smirk at him._ To _smirk _at _him_! He pulled a face halfway between revulsion and horror and Pansy, never having been one to pick up on subtleties, batted her eyelashes in response. Draco rolled his eyes and repositioned himself so that he was facing Amber. She wrinkled her more than voluminous nose in anger and crossed her arms over her chest, bringing them down sharply to her lap and flipping her empty plate across the table in the process. Blaise, seated to Draco's left, was torn momentarily from his conversation with Theodore Nott when the golden platter smacked him square in the side of the head. He spun wildly around in order to find the guilty party and, upon discovering his attacker to be (Draco supposed) perhaps-somewhat-good-looking-to-an-untrained-eye, he positively oozed Slytherin charm as he slid the makeshift frisbee back into place. Meanwhile, Amber continued to rip Hermione to shreds with her amber-colored eyes.

"_Amber_," Draco berated.

Upon hearing the name, Hermione's focus shifted entirely and her head shot out from her dinnerplate, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' as she whirled around to face the horrible freckled witch. "_Amber Fisch_?" Hermione half-shouted. It was obvious that she immediately regretted saying it, if the unbelievably beet-red blush smacking its way across her face was any indication of obviousness. Amber, too, was caught off guard. She fluttered her eyelashes but gave no other sign of the consternation so clearly evident in the next words she spoke.

Or, rather, the almost-words.

"Wh--How do you--Where did--" she sputtered.

"Sorry," Hermione interrupted, once again tucking a lock of hair behind her ear self-consciously as she slowly turned herself back towards her chicken. Amber's eyes flitted over to Draco, demanding an answer.

He, however, was utterly lost in his own world of confusion.

The wheels and gears in his mind spinning almost audibly, he furrowed his brow and thought as hard as he could. The only time he'd ever even mentioned Amber Fisch to anyone other than the ghastly young troll herself was the time he'd accidentally called _Hermione _by that name. And, as far as he could tell, it had somehow stuck in her mind. His heart leapt into his throat at the realization that maybe--perhaps--Hermione Granger had kept Amber's name in the back of her mind because she considered the girl...

Considered her what?

A threat?

Draco scoffed. He should be so lucky.

But if not a threat, then what?

And then he had it. He grinned to himself as the thought chugged happily across his cerebral cortex: Hermione _was _jealous of Amber Fisch. Yes, that explained everything! Her less-than enthusiastic reaction when he referenced Amber for the first time, her over-the-top reaction to finding lipstick on his crisp white shirt (when in actuality, he supposed, that sort of thing would probably bother quite a lot of women, to be honest), all the way to her current tomato-faced gaping upon hearing Amber's name. Yes, Hermione _must _have been jealous of Amber Fisch!

And suddenly he felt a surge of power following from the base of his spine all the way to his fingertips. He laughed loudly at the sensation, accidentally launching himself into a fit of manly giggles emanating from his electricity-bitten hands.

And then he looked up and saw all three girls staring at him.

And then he heard Blaise laughing at him somewhere to his left.

And then he saw the members of all four House tables watching him carefully, amusement etched in their features.

Quickly, he composed himself, digging his nails into the tablecloth in an effort to regain composure. He trained his face into his signature unaffected sneer and stared down his nose, snatching up his gold-plated fork and coaxing a bit of stuffing into the curve.

It worked.

His classmates followed suit, and the chatter picked up almost immediately, much to his relief. He sighed and then stared straight ahead, gravely promising himself that he would stab a fork into his inner thigh the next time he drew that much negative attention to himself...Not that he was against negative attention. On the contrary, Draco _lived _for negative attention! Unfortunately, being laughed at by every student in the Great Hall was just a bit too negative for his tastes. He much preferred being called an arse, a prat, a worthless ball of scum.

While he stared straight ahead, Draco just so happened to notice that Hermione's head was tilted downwards again. This time, however, her hand was held in front of her mouth in the most adorable way, causing Draco's stomach to flop around in the silliest of manners. Between the sweet slender fingers he caught a glimpse of her upturned lips, squeezed tightly together in order to keep her laugh from slipping out. He felt himself melting into a heap and, before he could subject himself to even poncier thoughts (while he was sure that was impossible), he forced his eyes away and across towards the Gryffindor table.

It took him a moment to find them, but then he remembered to search for the most obnoxiously red object he could find. Within seconds, he had located the back of Ronald's head.

He sat towards the middle of the table, his shoulders so tensed that they were up about his ears. His ears, Draco couldn't help but noticing, had turned purple along with most of his neck. They contrasted nicely with the white of his knuckles. The Boy Who Could Not Be Bothered to Comb His Fucking Hair sat across from Ronald as usual, his hideous black mop tossed over his head like scrap yarn. One beefy hand was tangled in that impossible maze of corn husk hair, and Draco was almost concerned as to how it would find its way out again. He grinned when he saw Harry answer a question through gritted teeth, his eyes focused intentionally upon a spot on the Gryffindor tablecloth; he snickered when Harry snatched his glasses away from his face to rub angrily at the bridge of his nose; and he stopped himself from bursting into loud laughter as soon as he remembered his promise about the fork and his thigh. And then:

"Drakie," came a sickeningly simpering voice. "Draaaaaaaakiiieeee!" Draco sneered, rolling his eyes as dramatically as possible before directing his attention to the fat bitch in front of him.

"What?" he hissed angrily, pressing the tips of his fingers to his forehead in annoyance. Pansy batted her eyelashes in the most seductive way that she was capable of. Essentially, she made herself look like a crazed mosquito. "Stop that," Draco demanded.

"Draco." He swung his head to the other side, unwillingly meeting Amber's eyes.

"What?" he repeated. In response, she threw her head towards Hermione's face as obviously as possible. Draco rolled his eyes for the second time. Amber opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted before she had the chance.

"If I may interject," Hermione began meekly, allowing her gaze to fall from Amber to Pansy, finally coming to rest on Draco. She paused, waiting for a reprimand. She stared directly into his eyes and all that he could think about was how ridiculous the concept of Gryffindor bravery was. Why, he probably had more fluffy _bravery _in his little fucking finger than she had in--

"I don't think he wants either one of you," she finished.

_Oh._


	28. TwentySeven: Amber and Episkey

**Oh my goodness there is so much drama in this chapter.**

**DRAMA WARNING. DO NOT READ IF YOU'RE NOT INTO AN ASSLOAD OF FUCKING DRAMA AND SHIT.**

**It's fun drama, though. You'll like it. Promise. Also: the words "bloody" and "fucking" are used five and ten times in this story, respectively. The words "bloody fucking" are used at least twice.**

**Thank you so much for reviewing, you guys! I really, really do appreciate it. Thank you for taking the time to do that for me :) And I forgot to say this the other day, but holla to IAmTheLonelyHeart, who I think is just lovely.**

**Disclaimer: You guys know by now that I don't entertain any delusions of owning Harry Potter or other related characters. Except maybe Draco Malfoy.**

**

* * *

  
**

Her face scrunched up, folding in on itself in what can only be described as an alien-like manner. "What?" she asked calmly, running her tongue threateningly over her front teeth. Her cheeks had turned the color of overcooked lobster, causing her freckles to stand out even more than usual--a feat Draco hadn't thought possible. Hermione only blinked, a tiny smile sneaking its way across her face. "_What did you say?_" Amber seethed, her fork-wielding hand tensing in a way that made Draco more than slightly nervous. He opened his mouth, concerned that perhaps he should interfere before that fork was lodged in Hermione's esophagus. Before he had the chance, however, Pansy spoke.

"How dare you!" she spat unconvincingly, the words cracking halfway through. "You--you _Mudblood_!" Hermione rolled her eyes at the juvenile insult, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head to one side in condescension.

"Really?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "Mudblood?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," Amber said dangerously, ignoring Pansy, her voice low and controlled. Hermione directed her gaze toward the redheaded witch.

"Don't you take offense to that, Amber?" she inquired pleasantly. When the girl displayed no reaction, she continued, "Mudblood, I mean? You _are _one, aren't you?"

The reaction was immediate. A sudden hush covered them like a heavy wool blanket. The entire table stared up at the lone Gryffindor, mouths opened wide, food falling from forks. The sound of spittakes surrounded them. Draco stared openly at her, his eyebrows raised high enough to be almost painful. She, Hermione Granger, the most obviously Muggle-born witch he knew of, had just turned the Mudblood insult around on herself, deflected it completely, and then used it on someone else. It was so bloody fucking appropriate for her to be seated at the Slytherin table just then that it blew his fucking mind. It wasn't until a thick droplet of something splashed onto his hand that he realized he was drooling. He closed his mouth quickly.

There she sat, batting her eyelashes, her hands folded politely in front of her and her hideous Gryffindor tie screaming, "Friendship! Beauty! Sissiness!" She was the absolute picture of innocence, perched ramrod straight on the bench with her shoulders tucked back and her neck elongated. She looked very much like she did in every single class he'd ever had with her--save for that devious little smirk that he was _sure _he'd seen somewhere before.

Amber sat to her right, her face red and swollen with anger, her teeth gritted and eyes flashing, her hair positively swimming with rage. She was hunched over like a troll, clutching the table as if it were the only thing keeping her from launching a full-on attack. She began grinding her teeth in hatred. The Slytherins around him watched carefully, captivated as if bound by the Imperius Curse. Blaise kneed him under the table and Draco looked up. He was grinning from ear to ear and winked as soon as he caught Draco's eye.

Yes, they were fighting over him.

Oh, Merlin, they were fighting over him.

_Hermione Granger _was fighting for _Draco Malfoy._

And that last thought was obviously a mistake because, not three seconds after he'd had it, a blazing erection appeared out of bloody fucking nowhere. He shut his eyes tight and mentally castrated himself, sighing in frustration. And then he looked up to find Hermione staring directly at him.

If he'd had another penis, the second one would have risen to attention as well.

He groaned when she smirked at him, cocking one eyebrow for just a split second. Blaise must have caught it as well because Draco felt a sharp, searing pain in his left side that could only have been elicited by the incredibly beefy elbow of a Quidditch player.

And then that crazy freckled bitch Amber ruined everything by pulling her fist back and swinging as hard as she could at Hermione's mouth.

* * *

"That's how we _Muggles _fight!" she screeched, flailing her legs in Hermione's direction as Pansy caught her about the armpits. Draco never would have guessed that Pansy would have any sort of self-restraint at all, and yet here she was practically dragging this insane and screaming young woman off of Hermione Granger's disbelieving face.

Angry little Amber had hit her in the mouth, in the stomach, and four times in the side of the head.

Pansy was pulling Amber across the Hall, screaming profanities at Hermione as she went. "You bloody well deserved it!" she shrieked. "I should just let go of her now, I should!" and such trite as that...as well as a few more-than terrible curse words.

Draco looked down and was thoroughly surprised to find himself on top of the table. He was standing in someone's mashed potatoes and all hell had broken loose.

Around him, Slytherin girls were cheering and laughing, and Slytherin boys were hooting and pumping fists. Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws (he couldn't tell the difference, honestly) were chattering loudly, babbling their heads off about breaking rules and the impropriety of it all. And, across the Hall, Draco could see every single Gryffindork on his or her feet, screaming profanities or on the verge of tears. Some had drawn their wands. He couldn't believe what utter fairies they all were.

And then he realized that Hermione was on the floor in front of the Slytherin table, probably unconscious seeing as how she wasn't moving, and that a thirty-foot-wide crowd of Hogwarts students had surrounded her and were currently causing quite a bit of commotion. He happened to catch a glimpse of the teachers' table: McGonagall, Snape, and Flitwick were at the edge of the tightly-packed mass of students, attempting to elbow their way to the beleaguered young woman sprawled out on the tile floor. The other teachers were either standing indignantly and screaming their heads off, or Draco hadn't seen them at all.

He laughed and leapt down from the table, rather pleased to find that he was so positioned as to be directly in the center of this doughnut of teenagers. He crouched down until he was at Hermione's level, and then all the laughter was ripped out of his chest and replaced by a soul-shaking fear. His eyebrows furrowed in something that may have looked like concern.

She lay still, having been caught completely off-guard and, subsequently, knocked completely off her seat. She looked confused, staring straight ahead with a slightly amused expression, one hand sprawled across her lap and the other placed gingerly on top of her opposite shoulder. Blood was positively pouring from a finger-sized gash in her face. Draco felt sick to his stomach. His head was spinning and he felt nauseous. Any moment now, he'd throw up all over someone for the sheer terror and worry of it all. He hoped to god she wouldn't die. As ridiculous as it was, his biggest fear was that she might die. (His second biggest fear was that she'd lose her memory after all the hard work he'd put in today.)

Upon seeing him, her eyelids fluttered and she began to laugh. He stared at her for what seemed like hours until a heavy hand pulled gently on his shoulder. He whirled around. Professor McGonagall stood directly behind him, her mouth a tight, worried line. He raised one eyebrow at her. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd transformed into her Animagus form simply to squeeze through the quivering ocean of children, seeing as how they were now kneeling and sitting and standing so closely to him that he could barely hear the professor. He could barely face her, for that matter.

"Hospital Wing," McGonagall ordered, her fingernails digging into his shoulder. He winced and nodded briskly, and she conjured up a stretcher that smacked a few people in the heads. She levitated Hermione on top of it and then motioned for Draco to withdraw his own wand. He obliged and recited the spell, and McGonagall lowered her wand and allowed him to clamber over the table and into an area free of students.

* * *

"I feel fine," Hermione said brightly, sitting up on the stretcher.

"You may have a concussion," Draco answered grimly.

"I'm sure that I don't, though," she answered, tossing his concern away with a flick of her wrist.

"Lay down, Hermione," he told her, pressing gently on her shoulder with one hand.

"I'm fine," she replied, shaking her head like a spoiled four-year-old.

"Would you please?" he attempted.

"No," she said flatly. "I'm feeling brilliant. Better than ever. I feel--"

"Hermione," he interrupted seriously. "You passed out on the way."

"I did not!" She held one hand up to her chest, utterly scandalized. "Did I?"

"What, you don't remember?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes. She blinked worriedly, biting her lip.

"...No," she admitted.

Instead of continuing the conversation, he simply pressed her head backwards onto the pillow of the stretcher in order to avoid smacking the top of her head into a particularly low-hanging door frame.

"Say, erm, Malfoy?" Hermione began tentatively.

"Yes, Hermione?" he responded, a bit put off by the use of his surname.

"Where are we headed to?"

At this, he stopped walking altogether, halting her stretcher in the process. He turned and lowered her so that his eyes were parallel to hers, then leaned his head in close. He smirked. "You've twelve more hours." She blinked, noncomprehending, and then revelation illuminated her face as if he'd shone a flashlight at her.

"You _can't _be serious," she groaned. He merely quickened his pace, adding a bit of a bounce to his step. "I--I may have a bloody concussion!" He let out one loud bark of laughter before tilting his head sideways and giving her a pointed look. She sighed in frustration and fell back, attempting to flop her head against the pillow. Draco caught the back of her neck and stopped her.

"Be fucking careful!" he bellowed.

* * *

Draco drew in a deep breath, tapping the base of his wand repeatedly against his palm. He paced a six-foot area of stone, thinking himself into a frenzy. He wondered what would happen if he used _Episkey _on a concussion. Would it give her brain damage? He just wanted to repair the cut in her bloody face, for god's sake--hopefully, that was all that'd need repairing, anyway. What in fuck's name were you supposed to use on a concussion? Would that be _Vulnera Sanentur? _No, no--wasn't that for bleeding wounds? Fuck. Maybe _Episkey _would work on a concussion. Was it supposed to be a potion? A draught of some sort? A bezoar? Wait, wasn't that only for poisons? Fuck, fuck! He then realized that Hermione would definitely know the answer. Laughable.

"What are you doing?"

"Shit!" he yelled, jumping a foot into the air. He dropped to his knees and scooted over to the side of the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress. "You're awake!"

"What are you going on about?" Hermione was staring at him as if he'd gone entirely batshit.

"What do I do to fix a concussion?" Draco asked desperately, holding onto her wrist for emphasis. Hermione giggled, batting him away with her other hand.

"I haven't got one of those," she answered, her voice significantly cheerier than usual. He took hold of her right wrist again and, to his surprise, she closed her left hand over the top of his.

"Fuck, f--_Episkey!_" Draco recited, tapping the wand against her cheek. Her eyes opened wide and then squinted. He couldn't tell if it was from pain or from the unique sensation the spell was known to have. "Er--_T-tergeo_," he added, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to get some of the dried blood off of her clothes and hair. She stared up at the canopy of his bed, not speaking. "Come on, Hermione!" he shouted after a short while. "Are you alright or aren't you?!" She turned her head to face his.

"I'm fine," she replied. He stared down at her, unconvinced, until a wide smile split her face in half. She laughed--first softly, then loudly--and he continued to watch her fearfully, positive that he had accidentally brought about her insanity. Soon, however, she grinned and yanked on the hand that she was still holding. Taken aback, he rolled on top of her and then quickly rolled over so as not to crush her with his weight. She lay on her side on the rightmost edge of his bed, one hand propping her head up and the other resting absently in between the two of them. He lay cautiously on his side, mirroring her position. His face clearly displayed some of the residual worry that currently plagued him, because she repeated, "I'm fine, Draco!"

She then made the first two fingers of her left hand into a little v-shape and turned it upside down, twisting her wrist in order to walk the makeshift person across the bed until it reached his chest. She inhaled deeply and lay back against the pillow. She closed her eyes and Draco screwed his face up in concern.

Then, her eyes opened and locked onto his. The following happened in slow motion, as if Draco's room had suddenly been shoved into an extremely large bucket of water:

He was somewhat aware of Hermione's little smile growing quite a bit larger, and as he noticed this, he failed to notice that she was also coming closer. That is, until she was three inches from his face. His heart stopped beating for a moment and she stopped moving altogether. In the fifteen seconds that followed, Draco waited patiently for something to happen, then began to panic, then deduced that she was simply trying to get a rise out of him and that she was a filthy slag who needed another good whack in the face. And then she pressed her lips to his of her own accord and Draco nearly fainted with excitement.

Merlin, how he'd missed that.

It may have been three seconds when she pulled away, or it may have been three hours. Either way, she pulled away and his whole body ached at the loss. His blazing erection had returned once again (it was the no sex that was doing it to him) and he nearly almost sort of turned a little bit the shade of a very manly pink when she bit her lip and smiled at him. Then, she immediately turned over and faced away from him, curling into a sweet little ball.

He sat there dumbfounded, grinning like a fucking idiot with one hand propping up his head and the other located conveniently at the front of his pants, blocking the area from view. He assumed it was over.

Then, however, Hermione peeked at him from over her shoulder and said, "_Episkey _does work on concussions, Draco," and scooted herself backwards until she was almost nestled against him.

Needless to say, that complicated things a bit.


	29. TwentyEight: Wanting and Wanking

**_SHIT_, mah bad. This chapter is 100% complete and utter sex, and nothing else.**

**Skip it if you'd rather not read 100% complete and utter sex. I realize that it offends quite a lot of people.**

**Sex, I mean.**

**Especially those under the age of eighteen. So maybe that would be inappropriate for you. But, you know. I'm not going to tell you how to live your life, y'all. ;)**

**ALSO, REVIEW PLZKTHX**

**Disclaimer: Sorry that I keep putting your characters in sexual situations, JKR**

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Her eyes slid open almost immediately. He lowered his hand quickly, releasing her hair as inconspicuously as possible, and forced his face into a nonchalant expression.

"What are you--" she began, her voice raspy with sleep.

"It's eleven o' clock," Draco responded, cutting her off. "I think maybe I should take you to the Hospital Wing." She scrunched up her nose and pressed her face into his pillow, causing his heart to flutter just a little bit.

"I don't want to go to the Hospital Wing," she mumbled, beating her fist against the mattress for emphasis.

"I think you--"

"I'm alright!" she moaned, twisting her back so that she faced him instead of the blankets. Draco paused, eyeing her cautiously for a moment.

"Are you quite sure?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," Hermione answered bluntly. "Now, let me go back to sleep."

She turned to bury her face into his plush Slytherin cushions, bringing her right hand up next to her face to cradle the corner of the bed. He snatched up her wrist and squeezed it, causing her to snap her head in his direction and shoot him a wary look.

"If you're not going to the Hospital Wing," he said slowly, emphasizing his consonants carefully in order to give his words a more devious lilt--a trick he'd adopted from the Potions Master himself, "then, surely, you don't expect me to allow you to _sleep away _this beautiful moonlit night."

Hermione scoffed angrily and spat, "Most nights are moonlit, Draco."

He blinked twice and closed his mouth, his eyebrows knitting together at the base of his forehead.

"That was entirely uncalled for," he answered finally.

She batted her eyelashes and smirked.

* * *

"Come on, Hermione," Draco hissed, easing the door open as quietly as possible. He winced at the tiny squeak that the frame gave halfway through. It seemed to reverberate off the stone walls and grow to ten times its original size. Fearfully, he concluded that a quarter of a meter was more than open enough and nodded briskly at the doorknob before releasing it and sneaking back towards the bed. "Hey!" he whispered. "Let's go!"

"I'm fixing myself!" Hermione whispered from behind the bed curtains. He rolled his eyes and parted the silky fabric effortlessly, using one arm to sweep them off to the side. She made a sharp noise and froze in place.

His bedspread was a mess, probably due to the fact that the two of them had been lying in it (together) for the past couple of hours. She sat back on her haunches in the center of the bed, her hair matted from where she'd been sleeping on it, her face fresh and ruddy with sleep. Her shirt was rumpled enough to display just the smallest bit of her midriff and scooped low enough to show off more than twice the amount of cleavage he was used to seeing from her...which, he noted with disdain, was probably less than four square inches of skin. Her woolen skirt was wrinkled and the waistband had risen to the area just below her bellybutton, meaning that the hem had risen to the area just above the midpoint of her thigh. Her fingers were stalled on the button and she stared wide-eyed at him, her full eyelashes fluttering and her mouth slightly agape.

She made an extremely loud whooshing noise that was probably the start of a very rude question, but Draco clapped his right hand over her mouth and shushed her angrily. "The door is _open_, Hermione," he warned. And, suddenly, he felt a pounding in his chest that probably had something to do with the fact that she was currently clutching her unzipped skirt to her hips with one hand and attempting to readjust her disarrayed shirt with the other. His vision blurred slightly and he made a rather primitive noise in the base of his throat before continuing with his half-formed idea by slipping his fingers from her lips and replacing them with his own.

She responded by humming muffled protests into his mouth as he wrapped his arms tightly around her back and drew her closer to him. He was vaguely aware of her hands releasing her clothing in order to smack and scratch at his chest, but he persisted in peppering her lips with rough, passionate, kisses interspersed with grunts of need. He gripped her wrists and pinned them behind her back to join his hands and she whimpered angrily. Draco seized the opportunity and popped her bottom lip between his own, nibbling the delicate flesh before running his tongue over the places he'd trailed his teeth.

He flicked one eye open in order to peek at her face--flushed but unreadable--before he realized that her hands were slack in his own. He let go and watched her eyes shut a bit tighter as she brought them up to rest on the hard muscles of his chest. Draco's mouth opened automatically and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. And then Hermione slid her tongue timidly out to explore the inside of his now-opened mouth and Draco's eyes shot open again. He bucked his hips toward her involuntarily and made a guttural sound of approval. She slid the heels of her hands from the knots in his shoulders down to his ribcage, accidentally stealing across his nipples in the most amazing way before she dragged her fingers down around his hips.

It was then that Draco became aware of the fact that he was obviously dreaming. He screwed his eyes shut and let out a dry sob that Hermione either ignored or didn't mind because she sighed into his mouth and slid one hand into his hair as she continued to control the kiss. And she pulled. And it hurt. And he didn't even care that she'd just tugged at his most prized possession because he was so fucking glad that it was all _real._

Recharged, he grunted and ran his hands over the expanse of her back before coming to a decision and cupping her bum. She immediately detached from his mouth with a struggling "squelch"ing noise. She drew back, slightly panting and slightly scandalized, but Draco didn't give her time to scream about it because he merely hoisted her up and wrapped her legs around his hips. She squeaked and he scurried across the room and shut the door, fumbling in his pocket for his wand. Unable to find it quickly enough, he grit his teeth and said, "_Accio my wand, _goddamn it!" It came flying out from under the bed and hit him square between the eyes, causing Hermione to giggle in amusement. He gripped it fiercely and recited as many wards as he could recall before tossing it somewhere behind him. He swung himself around and practically threw Hermione into the door, slamming her back against the wood as gently as possible. She arched into him and he hissed in pleasure, reaching down to grab at the soft skin of her sides from underneath her school shirt.

It was seconds before he felt Hermione's hand on the back of his neck. She wrenched him forward and crashed her lips into his, opening her mouth to devour him before they'd even connected. She held fast to his head, holding it in place as she worked through the kiss, bouncing herself up and down a little between the wall and his hips. Once again, Draco's eyes rolled to the back of his head. Usually, he _hated _to be the submissive one. He was _always _in power. He hadn't known how fucking amazing it could feel to not have to do any work, however, and it was enough to hold her against the wall with his hands on her ass as she fucked his face with her tongue. Merlin, it was fucking amazing.

He moaned loudly and she locked her elbows behind his head and then traced the outline of his chest with her fingers, making little noises that sent shots of blood straight to his groin.

And then he felt her pushing against him, taking hold of one of his hands and forcing it away from her bum as she lowered her feet back into contact with the floor. Draco struggled, eager to hold onto her for as long as possible, but she pressed his chest away from herself and he reluctantly obliged. He removed his lips from her own and slid his cheek into place against hers, breathing deeply and attempting to drag the moment out for just a bit longer.

But, even after she had pushed him away, she continued to apply a generous amount of pressure to his abdomen and he looked down at her face to judge her expression.

Determination.

Surprised, he gave into her and found himself careening backwards. He felt the hollows of his knees hit against something solid and he tripped, falling numbly against the mattress. Hermione followed, practically leaping on top of him and reclaiming his mouth. He wasn't sure what the fuck was happening so he lay as if paralyzed, allowing her to glide her full lips across his, sneaking her tongue out to tease at the opening of his mouth. And then she moved down to his throat, biting and licking from the left side to the right in a way that had Draco throwing his hips off of the bed in the hopes of making contact with hers. She raised her head a few inches, making eye contact with him as her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath coming out in ragged gasps. He stared back at her, his eyes wide. And then, without warning, she tugged hard at the fabric of his shirt, effectively removing two or three buttons, before attaching her delicious honey lips to his left nipple and biting down.

"FUCK!" Draco screamed, arching his back.

* * *

"Fuck," Draco whispered. His hair was a mess, his eyes half-lidded, his lips rosy and full from his successful snogging session. His torn shirt had somehow been removed and lay near his left leg, some of the buttons having been tossed across the room. Most importantly of all, he was so hard it actually hurt. He winced and slid one hand down to cup himself in an attempt to release some of the ache.

Hermione lay next to him, breathing hard, her clothes even less presentable than they already had been. He had no bloody idea how he'd done it, but somewhere along the line he'd managed to ease her shirt open and steal a glimpse of her white cotton bra. It matched the white cotton knickers he'd accidentally seen so many times before, and he'd nearly shot off in his pants at the idea of seeing her in _only _those two items of clothing. She hadn't seemed to care when he cupped her tits. Actually, she'd seemed to enjoy it.

Merlin, why did they have to stop?

"I'll be back," he mumbled, staggering slightly as he rose to his feet. He sent himself straight to the bathroom and shut the door, deciding to keep the darkness in order to properly imagine Hermione in front of him. As his eyes adjusted, however, he could clearly see the red lines trailing from his shoulders to the waistband of his pants, and, astonished, he flicked on the lights in order to have a better look.

Fucking nail marks!

Another surge of energy shot straight to Draco's dick and he groaned. He hadn't felt her make those.

* * *

"Can I ask you something?" Draco offered, smirking as he leaned against the bedpost. He crossed his arms. Hermione turned herself over and gazed lazily up at him, nodding and matching his smirk with ease. He lifted his hand to his face and examined his nails in nonchalance, allowing the question to spill out innocently. "Did you just have it off in my bed?"

Hermione faltered, her eyes widening as an exquisite blush stole across her face. He blinked at her.

"What?"

Draco snickered. "I mean, I just wanked the fucking _shit _out of myself and it's not _nearly _enough," he assured her, gesturing suggestively at his pelvis. He watched her carefully as she sat up, determined not to show any emotion at all. "Merlin, Hermione, do you _ever _have it off?" he asked, somewhat alarmed.

"You're not--" she began, meeting his eyes angrily.

"Alright, alright," he soothed, grinning to himself. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to." He extended his hand and lifted her off of the bed, dragging her towards the door as he did so. Just as they cleared the door frame and entered the hallway, he bent his head down next to her ear and whispered, "I already know the answer."

She shuddered in the most delicious way and he smiled smugly to himself.


End file.
